


The Glass Cabinet

by WatteauYouDoing



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, Baccano! And Arakawa Under the Bridge, Gaster thirsts for hand holding, I get lots of ideas alright, Oneshot collection, Other, Witcher 3, drunken kisses, things i've been inspired by so far - Spice & Wolf
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 15:24:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 37,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6759460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatteauYouDoing/pseuds/WatteauYouDoing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of oneshots, various pairings.</p><p>Latest Chapter -</p><p>Frisk's motley of monsters intends to help you celebrate an important event regarding a mutual friend. Who knew being a popular internet blogger could turn you into a conspirator?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Marriage (Gaster x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To further monster/human relations, W. D. Gaster has been arranged to marry you, a human lord.
> 
> Things are going well, except you're kind of... dense.

To be entirely truthful, Gaster had no idea what to expect when he got married. It had seemed so far away, like a distant dream - something that would only happen when he was older, surely, more experienced, more… prepared. But, some unanticipated developments occurred - namely, a sudden pressure to improve monster-human relations - and before he could really process it, he, a man who hadn’t even been on a proper date, had been married off to you.

He’d seen your portrait beforehand, of course, and you’d written letters to each other. He knew you to be thoughtful, well-educated, and attractive, though the canvas could have been lying there. But none of that had even begun to prepare him for seeing you at the altar, wearing the crimson that was emblematic of your house…

And it hadn’t even begun to prepare him for actually living with you.

Not to say that he was unhappy! No, no. You treated him absurdly well, and you provided such an interesting conversation partner, and you took your duties as a lord so very seriously, and, god, your portrait didn’t really do you justice, did it? You were incredibly handsome, especially when you stood by the window as you dictated to your scribe, your hair set alight by the afternoon glow and your hand brought to your mouth in thought -

Er. Well.

It was safe to say that, yes, Gaster was quite infatuated with you - although, there was something concerning him about your relationship.

Was it normal that, even though you’d been married for four months, the two of you hadn’t even held hands?

 

* * *

 

He watched you read from across the couch, your hair wound around your fingers as you idly toyed with it. A expression of deep contemplation rested on your face - and his gaze lingered on your slim, neat hand casually resting within easy reach.

Swallowing, Gaster looked away, returning his attention to his own book: a novel you’d recommended during the daily tea break he practically had to force on you. (“It’ll only be fifteen more minutes!” You’d say. “I just have to read through a few more documents before the chamberlain arrives.” Of course, to you, fifteen minutes was apparently indistinguishable from two hours, so Gaster had to take precautions.)

He could barely focus on the words. That was no comment about the author’s literary skill, he was really quite engaged, or… he would be, were it not for his bizarre inability to focus on anything beyond how badly he wanted to feel your fingers between his own.

He was certain your hand would be very warm, and in the brief moments of contact he’d shared with you, you’d always been so soft. Were your hands bigger than his, he wondered? He doubted it, but the curiosity nagged at him still. Would you smile any differently at him? Not that he was unsatisfied with how you looked at him, he was quite taken with your various expressions, but there was always something new to discover about you, something more to know.

Should…

Should he ask? Was that strange? Were you expecting him to? Was it not a human custom…? Did - did you… not want to? Were his feelings unrequited; were you only tolerating him as a matter of convenience? Neither of you had really asked for this marriage, after all, the request had come from you, sure, but he knew you’d been pressured into seeking someone, and -

“Gaster?”

Your voice drew him out of his thoughts, and he looked up, a blush dusting across his face as his gaze met your own. “Ah… what?”

“You looked troubled.” You shifted slightly, half turning to face him. “Are you feeling ill?”

Sick with love, potentially, but the idea of actually admitting to his worries turned his nonexistent stomach into knots. “Ah - no, no. I’m… just thinking something over.”

You looked at him for a time, your brows furrowing in that way you did when you were worried - but, apparently, you declined to pursue the matter, because you nodded slightly in acceptance. “Well, if it’s anything you’d like talk about… I’m always available.”

Gaster couldn’t restrain a slight chuckle, remembering a series of increasingly strongly worded letters that had arrived on your desk. “Aha… not according to Bishop Lepidos.”

“Mm.” You made a small noise of contemplation, and a smirk crossed your features. “Fortunately for you, you’re much higher on my list of priorities.”

You looked down at your book, not noticing Gaster’s flush at your reply, nor how he had to restrain himself from burying his face in his hands.

Perhaps you were a little too charming for your own good.

 

* * *

 

It was a beautiful spring morning, and Gaster had convinced you to take a break and join him outside.

At first, you’d simply spoken with him - primarily about the work he was doing in his lab. Gaster was a man of science, and that hadn’t changed with marriage. But sleep had alluded you last night, leaving your candle a mere stub after long hours of work, and, gosh, the sun certainly was warm, wasn’t it? And so, you found yourself dozing off on the garden bench you sat on, your head tilting back slightly as you embraced the sun.

And, next to you, Gaster found it impossible not to stare.

It was like you were made for the light - which was… probably actually true, given the homage your family traditionally paid to the great star. Your hair, your face, the gold that trimmed your tunic and the bronze of the amulet you had around your neck… they shined in a way that left Gaster completely captivated.

And…

That peaceful expression on your face…

The way your hand was relaxed beside you, fingers slightly curled and palm facing up…

He stopped just before touching you, took a deep breath, and pulled back. It wasn’t - it wasn’t that he was embarrassed, he told himself, nor was he cowardly, he just - he just.

Didn’t. Want to wake you.

That was all.

That was all…

(And maybe, he was worried that you’d hate him for it, too. That he’d embarrass himself. That - that he wasn’t good enough, that this was all just - he should be happy with what he had now, you were so kind to him and - )

Gaster heaved a heavy sigh, staring up into the deceptively cheerful clouds.

 

* * *

 

If the sun suited you wonderfully, then the shadows did, too, spilling over your cloak as you walked beneath the trees. Everything was in full bloom, now, the birds sang, and you truly looked at peace in the grounds behind your manor. You’d wanted to give him a tour of the area - a proper one on foot, because you were so very fond of your exercise. Not that Gaster minded any, of course. In fact, he really did love walking with you… and watching your sparring sessions… and peeking in on your morning stretches… and…

Gaster lightly cleared his throat, banishing those intrusive thoughts of his, and found himself looking around once more. He didn’t actually know what the big trees lining the path were, with their knotted branches and the curling ivy climbing up their trunks. So - in part, to distract himself - he asked. “What’re they called?” He gestured to make the object of his inquiry clear.

You shifted your attention to him, and, blessedly, your hands were linked behind your back. “Well, I call that one Bertrand…” you shifted your head slightly, tilting it slightly to indicate another specimen. “And that’s Bartholomew, and - “

“The species name,” Gaster whined, though he was amused by your continual, light hearted manner.

You snorted, slightly, and he found the slight laugh charming. “That’s a yew. Its berries are very toxic, so I recommend restraining yourself.”

“I assure you, you’ve no need to worry.” He let out a deep breath, relaxing slightly. Yes. Everything was normal. This was just a normal walk. Sure, he was married, his life was completely different, and he had absolutely no idea what he was doing, but that was no cause for alarm.

He was a patient man, he told himself. He could wait. He could take his time and figure things out. After all, he wasn’t some… spring-dizzy hare, he was a calm, cool, perfectly rational man who didn’t have filthy, uncontrollable, untoward thoughts about you and how desperately he wanted to… to just… to hold your hand -- oh, it wasn’t even visible, why was he thinking about this again -

“This way,” you said, and Gaster felt a tug on his arm.

His fingers had been entirely enveloped with warmth.

For a moment, Gaster couldn’t even begin to think. He couldn’t even move, and he stood there, eyes wide, staring at your hand clasped around his, and how you were looking back at him, having been about to take him down a small, dirt path branching off into the woods. He’d been right, before. Your skin was soft, and the feeling of it on his was… dizzying.

“...Gaster?” Your brow furrowed, and you stepped back over to him, tilting your head up to look at his face. “What’s the matter?”

He felt your hand start to loosen on his, and, reflexively, his grip tightened because - no, you couldn’t let go, not yet, he’d barely just - you’d barely just - he… You…

“I -- “ he choked, searching for some sort of explanation, and you looked down at the joined hands bridging the gap between the two of you.

“...Ahh, sorry. You weren’t paying attention, so I thought I’d just lead you along, but, well. I suppose I should have warned you?” You smiled, not minding that Gaster was incapable of speech. “Is it alright?”

Gaster nodded quickly, not daring to speak - particularly since he was afraid that, should he do anything at all, the moment would shatter into dust and he would, once more, be cold.

“Mm.” A pause, then you shifted, hooking your fingers through his more properly. “Shall we go, then? There’s a wonderful little pond I’d like you to see.”

Letting out a long, slow breath, Gaster nodded. He was right, earlier. His hands really were bigger than yours.


	2. Clouded Dreams on an Earthly Night (Gaster x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A forgotten god and a travelling scientist sit and drink for awhile underneath the stars. Of course there are feelings involved - but it's so hard to truly reveal your heart to another, especially when it belongs to them completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this to cheer myself up after exams and. it's. a little strange, i admit. consider it a product of me rewatching Spice and Wolf.

“Look at the stars,” you breathed, your head tilted so far back that your face was almost perpendicular to your shoulders. “They’re singing tonight - do you see them?”

“...Wouldn’t we be _hearing_ them sing?”

“Pft! Not this far away, you damn fool.” Laughing, you shoved at Gaster’s shoulder, and his mouth quirked up slightly in vague amusement. You knew he only derived humor from your proclamations, not understanding - but honestly, that was enough. It was enough to see him smile like that, all and soft and small and lovely.

Like a fat little bird. Oh, how you loved finches and their ilk.

He looked away from you, back up at the blissfully radiant sky above. “Right, then… Mm. No, while they’re admittedly very lovely, I’m not seeing any singing. Nor chanting, for that matter, or humming, or... “ He trailed off, squinting slightly, and when you tried it yourself the lights danced before you in blurry little twinkles. “Or any assorted synonyms.”

“Ahh, you’re a victim of your eyes, my dear!” You gestured at him with the bottle in your hand, taking a deep drink after the motion. It was cool and sweet, made from apples grown in a village that you’d passed through a week prior. They’d been celebrating the harvest, and Gaster had been kind enough to pause his journey long enough to treat you for awhile. Somehow still, you could love the little things. “The shift in the light, the glow of the sky - oh, what’s that fancy word you use… Wavelengths? Just twist it the right way and light’s the same as sound.”

“That - “ he slurred a little bit - the drink’s fault, you wagered, fogging up his mind and casting a dusky blush across his face. “I’m not even going to begin to start telling you how that makes no sense. When did you start calling me _dear?”_

“Haven’t I always?” You felt the grass between your toes, and the cool softness of the earth tingled across your skin. “Or - no, I’m sorry. I’m forgetting myself; that was long ago. In… ahh, which King’s court was it again? Louis? Probably a Louis. There were so many!”

That flush of his didn’t go away, and he stared at you for a time. “You’ve never told me how old you are, you know.”

You waved vaguely with the bottle once more, enjoying the melodic slosh of the liquid inside. “I have! You just don’t listen. I don’t _know._ I’m a god! Those things don’t matter.”

“You had to have been… oh, created? Is that what you call it? _Created_ at some point.”

With a somewhat dramatic sigh, you tossed yourself onto the ground, spreading your arms out like a starfish. “I’m the beginning and the end! Alpha, omega, and - probably some other letters, too. You should fear my power, you know. I could smite you with just a thought!”

Gaster eased himself down onto the ground beside you, looking profoundly amused at your… _antics,_ if they could be called that. “Says the person who had to be shown how to use a bottle opener.”

“Shush!” You pointed dramatically at the sky. “Shush you, with your mocking and your particularly detestable _teasing._ Everyone has things that they’re bad at, and bottles are hardly in my domain!”

Slowly, you let your hand drop, settling your forearm over your forehead as your gaze turned somewhat absent. “Not that I’ve got much of a domain, at this point. It’s all a bit flimsy. Like worn glass on the beach… do you think I could be the god of that, Gaster? Glass?”

He watched you, his head propped on his hand as he lay on his side. “Hmn… I’d say so. You’re certainly pretty enough for it.”

You tilted you head, looking over at him. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Well, glass is meant to be beautiful, isn’t it? It shines, it catches the sun. Stained glass, glass bottles, all of those vibrant colors and shapes… a god of all that would be a pretty one, I’d wager.”

“Hmmn. Glass smudges so easily though, gets all dirtied with fingerprints and snot. It’s a pure thing that’s easily defiled. Perhaps I don’t want to be that sort of god after all; it seems like a delicate existence.”

He chuckled softly, his gaze never leaving your face. “What if you decreed that every household should keep their windows particularly clean? Making people tend to your needs is fully within your character.”

With a huff, you rolled away from him in a gesture of petty rejection. “You’ve a bitter heart, you know! Like dandelion milk - or, even worse, _wormwood.”_

“Oh, do I now? Well, give me that, then - it might sweeten my soul.” He leaned over you, and you could feel his arm brush your side as he reached for the bottle. His fingers ghosted over yours, and you felt warmth in your gut - but you didn’t say anything. It was the drink, you told yourself, and it was the drink that mourned it when he scooted away after claiming his prize.

You heard the cider slosh in the bottle as he took a draught. “Do you want the rest?” he murmured, and you shook your head slightly. A strange melancholy had suddenly claimed you, and the thought of drinking more was unappealing.

The chill had entered your fingers, and you brought them to your mouth and breathed on them - warm air, from the depths of your chest. It helped a little, though the claminess remained, reminding you of how lost you were in this world.

Gaster finished it off, then stood, placing the bottle neatly in the wagon the two of you traveled in - as was his habit. He hated the idea of leaving trash about and, to be truthful, it was a thing you admired. After he’d finished, he eased himself into a kneel beside you, and you felt his hands underneath your armpits.

“Up you go,” he managed, clearly in no state to be helping you with this, but he was a stubborn man desperate to care for others. “You’ll be much warmer in the wagon.”

“Don’t want to,” you whined, resisting his pull much like a surly sack of barley. “‘S _pretty._ ”

“If you stay out here, you’ll be cold and wet and miserable in the morning.”

You let out a low keening sound, wrapping your arms around him and dragging him down onto the ground with you. He let out a whooshing sound as the breath was knocked out of him, and you were close, so _close,_ your face buried into the fabric of his chest. There’s no way he’d stay like this with you if you went into the wagon. You’d be relegated to your space, and he to his, and you’d be _apart_ and it was so _cold._

You were constantly plagued by the chill of rejection - of a world that didn’t need you anymore, a redundant god with neither temple nor parish. But Gaster still liked spending time with you, letting you be his sidekick in his journey for the ultimate panacea. It was a rather embarrassing position for someone of your former stature, but those small embers of companionship warmed your tired soul and frozen hands.

It was easier, like this - when he held you tight, like the world would fall apart if he let go.

“...Very well,” he murmured against your hair, running a single digit up and down the middle of your back. “But I’m taking you inside when you fall asleep.”

You nodded against him. He was so kind to indulge you in your whims - truly, what a beautiful man. His soft breath dusted your hair, and it eased you off to sleep - slowly, bit by bit, as you slipped into a hazy chasm of fermented apples and twinkling starlight.  


* * *

 

It felt like a dream, and perhaps it was one, awakening in a dizzy haze with your mouth against his neck. Gaster felt the breath catch in his throat, felt the magic in his bones pulsing in a strange approximation of a racing heartbeat. This couldn’t be real, he figured, particularly when he felt your lips brush up his vertebrae. A slow, hissing breath passed between his teeth, and that seemed to awaken you somewhat. He felt the loss as you pulled back to look at him.

At least... until he noticed how close your mouth was to his - just a few inches away, and slightly parted, too. Well, he thought, looking into your hazy expression. This was shaping up to be a _really_ good dream.

“Gaster…” His name was a mere breath on your lips, and it bordered on maddening just how captivating it was. Was that the power of a god? No - honestly… it was just you being _you._

“Yes?” He rasped, edging closer centimeter by centimeter. He wanted it, but a strange sort of hesitance kept him from just completing the distance between the two of you. Fear, probably. He was sort of a coward when it came to feelings and - goodness gracious was he _feeling_ things now.

Particularly when you murmured, “You're warm.”

That sentence damned him, and he leaned in to kiss you, deep affection fluttering his chest. He knew he was nothing but cold bones, but your version of the truth had always been so profoundly _different_ and the idea that, in it, he brought you warmth...

It made him fall in love yet again, as if he hadn’t already slipped a million times over the course of your shared journey. When it came to you, he was entirely helpless, and when you pressed back against him, your lips soft and gentle…

It filled him with a fervent desire to touch you, to share with you the warmth that burned inside his bones whenever he thought of you. The feeling that kept him going on the cold nights, when the air was dark and dismal, and when he felt like the most wretched of fools, lost to the pursuit of the impossible. Did you have any idea that you were the light in his life? The thing that kept him going in his quest to cure his brother?

He wanted you to know - in the way that _you_ knew things, not with the mind but with the heart… and he hoped you could feel it as he brought his hand to your head, threading his fingers through your hair and kissing you deeply.

This was feeling less and less like a dream, but honestly, he was so far beyond caring at this point that he didn’t think anything of it, and neither did you, your hands tightening against the back of his neck. He could feel the clammy chill of your fingers dipping underneath his turtleneck, and that planted the seed of a whim inside of his heart.

He pulled away, chuckling softly at the unhappy little noise you made in the back of your throat. “Hold on a moment,” he murmured, reaching behind himself to untangle your hands and pull them in front of his mouth. With gentle, careful motions, he ghosted soft kisses over your fingers and your knuckles, travelling up the digits until he could nuzzle your wrists and the back of your hands.

You stared at him in akin to awe, and he would be lying if he said the expression was anything short of intoxicating.

“Better?” he asked, his voice sounding strange to his own ears, and you nodded, a careful, hesitating gesture, like this might all shatter if you moved too much.

“Can I…” you trailed off, your voice tight and nervous, and he felt another soft pulse of affection as he pressed the crack of his mouth against your forehead.

“I assure you, whatever it is... you may.”

It took a moment for you to work up the will to pull your hands away from his, but you did… and then, slowly, slipped them underneath his shirt. He gasped a bit at the sudden intimacy of your fingers travelling up his spine, and you paused, looking up at his face.

“Should I stop?”

 _No,_ he wanted to say with absolute firmness, but that would be a highly embarrassing reply, so instead he lightly touched his mouth against your nose. “I was just... surprised. You may do whatever you like.”

You nodded, scooting closer as your thumb traveled up the bumps of his spine, all the way up to his ribcage. With idle, sweeping gestures, you trailed the pads of your fingers across the underside of the long, thin bones. “‘S warmest here,” you explained yourself in a soft slur. “In your chest.”

“Oh, ah, well.” His entire face had been devoured in a blush, and he wondered if you could see it under the light of the bright moon and the twinkling stars. “I, ah. I’m glad.”

He was actually sort of relieved when you tucked your head back underneath his head, seeming to want to doze off again, because if - if you’d kept going…

He might have done some things that would have made it _very_ hard to look at you in the morning, and - and this wasn’t a dream, was it? You, curled up against him, hands still underneath his shirt as you slipped back into half-drunken sleep… He was going to have to deal with this in the morning, wasn’t he?

 _Fuck._ The thought was sharp, sudden, and sobering, and he looked down at you, mouth twisted in distress. Maybe you’d… forget? That would be a blessing, for you to forget his own damnable idiocy. You were _drunk,_ and he’d kissed you like a damn idiot. What the hell had he been thinking?

 _He hadn’t_ was the answer, and he could taste the self-disgust in his mouth, along with the lingering sweetness of apples. Still. He could fix this, maybe. He just had to… get you into bed properly, and perhaps you’d think it all really had been a dream - and yes, he’d know, and hate himself for it, but at least…

At least he could possibly preserve the cordial relationship he had with you.

With a sigh - and feeling vile for it - he burned this intimate moment into his memory, because it was never going to happen again.

Ever. He wouldn’t allow it.


	3. 'Humor' and 'Human' Sound Awfully Similar, and You're Not Really Good With Either (Sans x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since you were young, you've been trained to eradicate demons, devils, and other unsavory creatures that prey on right and proper folk. A lifetime of thinking about little beyond killing has made you useless at most things beyond that, though, so it's a good thing Sans is there to explain jokes to you. And help you haggle. And manage all of those boring logistical matters you can't bring yourself to care about.
> 
> Where would you be without him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was playing the Witcher 3 and got /real inspired/.
> 
> for those people who were like, "shit, i low-key ship sans/crane now fml" after reading Papyrus Dates a Bird - this one's for you.
> 
> also, there's some casual nudity, but like, nothing sexual at all. i'm very supportive of the sans-is-ace headcanon!
> 
> ps - my tumblr is glitterbark.tumblr.com! i write Lots of Garbage and also draw stuff.

Noise hummed around you, a motley mix of chattering, clinking drinks, and the occasional bar-room argument over cards. It was all a bit overwhelming, so you tuned most of it out, focusing the full brunt of your attention on your immediate surroundings: your employer sitting across from you, Sans, who was directly to your left, and the bag full of stinking vodyanoy parts directly before you, cut and carved from your latest job.

The job that you were, currently, negotiating your salary for.

The alchemist who’d hired you - a chimera-like monster named Trovan - peered into the sack full of… bits, squinting as he adjusted the spectacles on his leonine snout and commented vaguely on their quality in his deep, grumbling voice. “Fine set of feet, but the eyes look a tad… squashed. Hrm, hmn…”

You watched him make his assessments, every so often flicking your gaze to Sans. It wasn’t exactly… nerve-wracking, you cared little enough about the outcome of all this that it didn’t fill you with terror, but you _did_ hate negotiations and - well, talking in general. You weren’t very good at it.

Luckily, Sans was by your side - and he probably saw you were getting a bit tense, considering that he subtly reached under the table, tapping a single, boney digit against your leg. Shifting idly in a way that came fairly naturally to you, considering your profoundly unexpressive demeanor, you unlinked your clasped hands, dropping one of them to the bench as you used your other to take a drink.

He scooped it up, threading his fingers between yours - and though you couldn’t feel the nuances of it, given the thickness of your leather gloves, knowing he was doing it was a comfort.

“Mmn, mmn. A good load. I’ll give you… forty lusce. How does that sound?”

Normally, you would accept automatically - but, well. That was before you met Sans. You felt him squeeze your thumb with his - one of the many, _many_ nonverbal gestures the pair of you used to communicate. It meant, very simply, _no._

You peered at Trovan from beneath your long-beaked mask. “That vodyanoy was, at the very least, seventy-five years old, meaning that there are a significant number of ammonia deposits in its stomach and lung, making those organs very useful in potions. Furthermore, I beheaded it, and refrained from damaging any of the parts otherwise. I deserve at least twice the amount you offered.”

Honestly, Sans had told you about all that. Your entire skill-set was based around killing, not around… well. Making money.

Trovan laughed, a hearty _oho!_ that came from the depths of his chest. “ _Twice_ that? Hmmn, you’re right with what you said, but that’s a little unreasonable. How about seventy?”

“I insist on eighty.”

“I can’t pay more than seventy,” the alchemist insisted patiently, pressing his paws together. “And I suggest you take it, because those reagents will start losing value _very_ quickly if they’re not properly stored.”

You were going to buckle at that, but - once more - Sans squeezed _no…_ and then let go of your hand.

Well. All you could do was trust him, you supposed, and make your best performance. Standing, you put your palms on the table, leaning over the bag and getting so close that the tip of your beak almost touched his glasses... meaning he could very, very clearly see how drenched with blood and other various forms of viscera you were. “I dislike it when people try to cut corners when paying me. I know that creature was interfering with one of your trade routes, and I’ve been kind enough to not charge you for actually eliminating it. If you, however, are too poor to make a fair purchase, then I’ll charge you thirty lusce for everything I’ve done to make your operations safer, and then go pawn _this,_ ” you nodded slightly to the bag, “Off on Doctor Havern. That will cover my costs. Understood?”

Travon squinted, his serpentine tail flicking idly. “Fine, fine. Eighty it is. Let me count it out for you.”

You relaxed somewhat, sitting back down on the bench as you sent a glance over to Sans. He spared you a grin and a wink, and if you were the sort for smiling, you probably would have done so in that moment.

You weren’t, though, not that it mattered. He didn’t need to see you smile to know when you were happy

 

* * *

 

Once you’d gotten your money, you’d suggested going around town and doing… whatever couples did in their time off. Sans had just stared at you and said, “babe, i love you. truly. i do. but you seriously need to take a bath first.”

“Oh,” you’d replied, realizing that you probably stank very, _very_ badly. ”Alright.”

And that was how you’d ended up by the river cutting under the bridge leading out of town, taking off your armor behind some protective bushes. Sans sat near you, cross-legged with his hands on his knees.

“y’know,” he commented, glancing down at the flowing river. “when tending to my hygienic needs, my first choice is _always_ the glacial river.” A pause, and then he added in before you could reply, “that was sarcasm, by the way. we could have found a way to get you a real, heated bath.”

“Ah, I couldn’t do that. Some of these…” You contemplated the organic material flecked and chunked across your armor. “...Parts are toxic. I need flowing water to clean it.”

“we coulda, y’know… bagged up your armor and brought it to the river after? i mean,” he nodded to the freezing water. “there’s a lot to be said about killing two birds with one stone, but this is going a bit overboard.”

“I’m unfamiliar with that phrase.” Your peeled the leather armor off your torso, setting it down neatly beside your shoulder-plates and boots, and your shirt came off right after.

Sans watched you undress, shifting to prop his cheek up on his hand. As per the usual, he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off the various marks and scars that littered your torso. You knew he hated them - though, somehow, he could find it in himself to call you beautiful all the same.

While you didn’t think it was true, you appreciated the sentiment.

“basically means ‘to accomplish two things with one action’.”

“Oh.” You rolled your shoulder before working on your pants. “Well, the more time I save while cleaning myself, the more time I can spend with you today.”

You noticed that Sans’ face had tinted a bit blue, though you weren’t really sure what had caused him to blush. “uhh, aha, well. i guess you’re not gonna change your mind at this point, huh.”

“No.” You folded your pants, then and - after another stretch - you stepped into the river, taking a few pieces of your armor with you. The frigid water lapped against you, but you paid it no mind - you were something neither human nor monster, and that made you much sturdier than most things.

As you scrubbed your armor clean, Sans asked, “so, uh. what… were you wanting to do?”

“I don’t really know. The concept of ‘courting’ is still a very foreign one to me. Do you have any ideas?”

You had a weird ability to strip him of lies and deceit. Maybe it was guilt over how thoroughly he’d manipulated you in the past - (and how you’d never once blamed him for it, because it was to save _Papyrus,_ how could you fault him?) - or maybe it was just… how truthful and forthright you were, how plain and honest. He’d lost his ability to hide himself in front of that.

It was weird. Love was _weird,_ and it had him saying with a somewhat embarrassed grimace - “uh, well. i, er. i guess i sort of had one idea.”

“What is it?” You asked, tilting your head in that lovely, bird-like manner of yours. “I won’t laugh, though I’m sure you know that, by now.”

Sans did. You had laughed approximately three times in his presence, and one of them had been the result of a drug. “er, well. there’s actually… so, the town we’re in, the weather makes for some really clear skies, and…”

“You want to go stargazing?” You filled in, looking at the very-obviously-just-after-noon-sun.

“uh, not quite. see, a lot of the charts for star-readings are made here, and they’ve got some in the library… and i know you like it when i teach you stuff, so i was wondering if you wanted to… go? see them?”

Sans winced internally, sort of regretting how huge of a Nerd he was, but you thought this over and nodded without teasing him. “Alright, that sounds nice. I would like to learn more about your work.”

He chuckled softly, letting out a breath of air. You were, perhaps, the least judgmental person in the world. “great. we’ve got a _data_ , then.”

At your somewhat confused look, he explained. “‘s a stupid joke. _data_ , what we’re gonna go see, sounds similar to _date_ , which is what we’re gonna go… do..”

“Ah, I understand.” You dipped under the water, wetting your hair and washing some of the sweat and grime out of it. “It occurs to me that I didn’t actually bring a change of clothes.”

Sans patted the bag next to him. “i thought ahead, don’t worry about it. though, i don’t mind if you wanna dry off in the sun a bit. it’s pretty warm, and no one’s around.”

You wrung out your hair, humming to yourself in thought. “I haven’t heard about any monsters around the river, so that’d probably be fine.”

A shrug. “honestly, if something did show up, i fully trust you to beat its ass, even while naked.”

“I am getting a vague feeling that you’d actually enjoy seeing that.”

“it’d be pretty funny.”

Shaking some of the water off yourself, you climbed back out of the river, joining your armor back on the shore. Apparently, Sans had thought to bring you a _towel,_ too, and he handed it to you as you settled yourself next to him on the grass. Despite being made of poor, scratchy material, it did its job, and your hair was dripping a bit less by the end of it.

“so, like - i’m actually curious. if you were, say, thrown off a boat into arctic waters… would you _still_ not get hypothermia or anything? how far do those weird cold-resisting powers of yours get you?”

“I’m not actually sure. I think - if there was no shelter at all - I might actually perish from exposure, though it’d probably take some time. I’ll survive anything less than that, though; I know from experience.”

The cold frankness in your voice wasn’t… unexpected, but it did make Sans grimace a bit. “jeez. work, or your training?”

A shrug. “Both.”

Sans heaved a sigh, scooching so he was behind you and wrapping his arms around your torso. “that, uh. that kinda sucks.”

“It’s just how things are.” You leaned against him, resting the back of your head against his shoulder. “Wait… am I getting your clothes damp?”

“eh, a little. doesn’t matter, though.” Idly, he traced a finger along some of the scars marring your stomach, a common gesture of affection for him. “you could say that it does nothing to… dampen my affection for you.”

A long pause.

“Was that a pun?”

“yeah. sorry. habit.”

“I don’t mind. I think I’m getting better at jokes.”

He pressed his teeth to the side of your head. “sure are, babe. i’m proud. soon, you’ll be a top-tier jokester, and then you can really join the family.”

You thought this over. “Are you saying that you intend to marry me once I’m appropriately good at understanding humor?”

“uh,” replied Sans, who hadn’t actually meant to say that, but belatedly realized that was the obvious implication of his statement. Of course, he couldn’t just say, _oh, I’m kidding,_ because the idea actually wasn’t that unappealing - er, well. It wasn’t unappealing at _all_ , actually, and, uh, man, he was kind of... super not ready for this conversation, and -

“Sans?” You interrupted his thoughts, apparently good enough at reading him now that you knew when something gummed up his thoughts. “Did I say something wrong?”

“‘course not,” he said, feigning a calm, relaxed voice. “there’s just, like, a pun on the tip of my tongue, but i can’t quite figure out how to make it work.”

“...You don’t have a tongue,” you said, proving once-and-for-all that you were abysmally awful at figurative language.

“‘s a saying. though. i could have a tongue if you wanted?” Good, topic change. Crisis averted. “magic is pretty cool, and i’m real good at it.”

“That’s not necessary. Besides, that doesn’t seem like the kind of thing you’d like.”

“eh, well. i’d do it for you.”

You apparently didn’t have a reply to that… or maybe, you just wanted to think. Either way, there was a silence filled by the distant chirping of birds and the soft sounds of his hand trailing up the jagged scars cutting over your sides. Letting out a long, slow breath you closed your eyes and took his other hand between yours.

“I do love you, Sans,” you murmured. “But I understand what I am. If, in the end, you end up deciding that you can’t imagine a life where you’re forever tied to me, then - “

Sans cut you off by sharply squeezing your hand. “hey now, jeez, what - where’d that come from?”

“...You changed the topic, earlier. When I mentioned marriage.”

Damn, you were getting good at noticing shit like that. He was rubbing off on you, and he wasn’t sure if he should be pleased or scared.

“...that, uh. it’s nothing to do with you. i just, y’know. i never once thought i might actually… like someone enough to settle down ‘n shit.” He coughed a bit awkwardly. “i guess i’ve been trying not to think about it, since the idea is a bit… big and scary.”

You thought this over, and accepted it with a nod. You really were understanding, weren’t you? It made his gut feel funny, despite there not being anything there to, y’know. Vibrate, or whatever the hell made that feeling happen in people with organs.

“That’s fair. I’ve… admittedly, not been thinking of it seriously myself, although…” You paused. “It is part of the reason I’ve tried so hard to become better at haggling.”

“...huh?”

“Well. If we wanted to do the things that normal people do - settle, have property - we’d need money, correct? I used to not care about money as long as I had enough to eat, but… well. That sort of mindset makes it difficult to acquire savings, so…”

Suddenly, Sans held you tight, his arms constricting around your waist, and when he spoke, his voice was muffled by your shoulder. “...what’d i do to deserve someone as cute as you.”

Your voice was as plain and unemotionless as always, and somehow that made it _better_ when you said, “By being you, I suppose.”

He let out an unnecessary whoosh of air, nuzzling your shoulder with his nose. “pretty sure Papy ‘n Gast would be over the moon if we, uh. y’know.”

“...Over the moon?”

“yeah. means they’d be happy.”

“Oh.” You rested your hands over his once more. “I’m glad you think so. I enjoy your family.”

“...uh, say. wanna visit them again, soon? and - we can talk about the stuff you said a little more. it’d probably be good to think on it a little; ‘s kind of a big deal.”

Very, very vaguely, you sounded… amused. “Are you nervous right now?”

“...lil’ bit, yeah.”

“Mm. Well.Yes, that sounds nice. We can take some jobs along the north road while we go there - does that sound agreeable?”

“pfft. _agreeable_. you talk like a nerd.”

He could practically hear your eyebrows going up. “Says the man who is actually a… ‘nerd’, as you put it.”

“okay, fair. pot calling the kettle black, here. uh, that means - “

“You’re being hypocritical, yes?”

“right, you got it. man, you really _are_ learning.”

“It’s all thanks to you.”

Sans laughed softly. “dunno if that’s a good thing or not. anyway, yeah. that, uh… that sounds nice.”

You didn’t smile, but you didn’t need to, because Sans could feel your happiness in the way you relaxed against him and the way you softly nudged his neck with your nose. And - maybe it wasn’t always perfect, and maybe you’d both been kind of fucked up by the things that had happened to you, but the day was warm, and things were going well, and later you were going to go look at star maps and Sans would be a huge nerd about it all.

And maybe - maybe sometime later…

You’d get married, and be happy, and it was terrifying to think of, because he hadn’t ever thought it was possible, but at the same time…

It gave Sans a little hope about the future. That maybe, in the end - things would be alright.


	4. Eyes on You (Gaster x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A commissioned oneshot for my dear friend, Atllas/Natalie. Ur a cutie bb~
> 
> You are the king's court painter, and Gaster loves you dearly. Unfortunately, not everyone is so happy about your relationship - but they don't matter. You're going to be happy regardless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was commissioned by @vai-russ (http://vai-russ.tumblr.com/) for our mutual friend, Atllas (http://atllas.tumblr.com/). This is mainly for her, but I love her to bits so I'm going to force everyone else to look at me writing self-insert fic for her. <3

“Alright,” Gaster said, looping his arms around you and picking you up off your stool. “That’s it. Seven hours is enough; _you’re taking a break.”_

“No!” You whined, reaching desperately for the canvas, but Gaster was insistent. He took a few steps backwards, only setting you down after he’d put a number of feet between you and the object of your current obsession. Desperately, you tried to sidestep him, but - no. He easily caught you by your shoulders, keeping you held in place with a strong grip.

Despite knowing it was futile, you struggled anyway. “Gaster, so help me -- I am going to splatter paint _all over_ your nice clothes unless you let me get back to work!”

“Why are you saying that like it's a threat?” Grinning, he pressed his teeth against your forehead, finishing it with a nuzzle soon after. “Your art is lovely, and serving as your canvas would be the greatest of honors."

You quietly screamed, smacking his shoulder lightly in uncontrollable embarrassment. Deciding that flustering you was great fun, he continued, wearing a particularly smug grin all the while. “And… only a fool would pass up being able to wear a token of your affection.”

“Gaster! Stop that!” You hid your face underneath your curls, reacting to compliments much like the devil reacted to holy water - that is, sizzling embarrassment, screaming, and a brief spout of unholy chanting.

Y’know.

The usual stuff.

He laughed softly, bringing a delicate hand up to brush your hair out of your face. “Why? I’m just telling you the truth.”

“You’re not! You’re trying to embarrass me.”

“Mmn, no, as someone who’s done a lot of research on the subject…” He slid his palms down your arms, taking your hands into his and looking down at you. “You are, without question, delightfully cute, talented, and completely wonderful.”

You hid your face against his coat, making another high pitched noise of embarrassment. You probably intended it to be a sentence, but all it amounted to was a jumble of incoherent noises.

He responded regardless. “Are you doubting my expertise? I’ve researched this topic very thoroughly.”

You huffed a bit, pouting. “I’m questioning your methods, at the very least!”

“Goodness, you wound me.” His tone was so overwhelmingly affectionate that - even though you tried to look up and meet it - you couldn’t hold his gaze for long, and had to, once more, bury your face against him. Though - Gaster didn’t mind in the slightest. Standing with you like this was one of his favorite pastimes.

Not that you minded, really, but work was itching at the back of your mind. “Did you come here for something, or did you just want to lead me astray with your…” You paused, looking for an appropriate word. _“Wiles?”_

“Aha! Well, while I don’t really need an excuse to come see the most extra-special, lovely, beautiful, and, dare I say, _radiantly ravishing_ person in the world…”

“Gaster….!”

“...I did actually want to ask you something.”

This got your attention, and you stopped trying to wriggle out of his grip in protest. “What’s up?’

“Well - I was thinking that, perhaps… you might want to accompany me on a journey to town? Possibly even… with a picnic basket in hand?”

Your heart caught in your throat at that, and you sent a little glance back to the portrait you’d been commissioned to paint. While you’d always had a habit of getting lost in your work…

...It was fair to say that, at the moment, you had other reasons for wanting to distract yourself. “...Do you… think we’ll be alright? I mean - last time…”

“Natalie...” He pulled a hand away from yours, settling a finger over your lips, instead. “Tensions rise, and then they fall. While things are… not very good right now, they won’t be that way forever. Until then, we should live our lives, shouldn’t we? All fretting will do is make us unhappy.”

You sighed, chewing lightly on your lip. It was true, you supposed - it wasn’t like you worrying about it would magically make the uneasiness between humans and monsters go away. Still, the idea of going to town with him - the idea of him being subjected to the _looks,_ the _comments,_ the - in some cases - the barely restrained hostility…

It filled your stomach with lead. He was so, so beautiful - how could anyone treat him like that? How could you stand to see people treat him like that?

If you just painted, you didn’t have to think about all that, and Gaster would - in your studio - be safe.

“...Natalie,” he murmured, his expression so heartrendingly gentle. “We’ll be fine; _I’ll_ be fine. But… I don’t want us to have to stay cooped up. We can live a little, alright? And…”

He ran a hand down your hair, settling it on your shoulder. “If I’m with you - I could be damned in the eyes of others and yet still only feel happiness.”

You found yourself struggling with words, as you often did when Gaster complimented you like this - but… he looked so hopeful, so sincere, that you couldn’t help but nod and accept his request. He was right, you supposed, it wasn’t like the worries of a scientist and a court painter would change anything, so…

Perhaps you should go out and be happy.

 

* * *

 

Gaster couldn’t keep his eyes off you, and it was easy to understand why - for, tonight, you really were gorgeous.

The pair of you didn’t often go to dances - you were a bit shy and he found himself equally overwhelmed in crowds. But the both of you heard a rumor that tonight’s ball would feature a buffet of positively artisanal _lemon-themed_ sweets _,_ and, well, there was no way in hell you were going to miss that.

Gaster may have also expressed an interest in seeing you in a pretty dress.

“I’m really not good at this,” you murmured, looking over at all the other couples who were - in your mind - far more graceful and elegant and _prettier_ than you. But he smiled down at you, an expression filled with both care and intent fascination, and his gaze didn’t wander at all.

“You’re doing very well! Particularly for having no real formal training.” He kept his hand on the small of your back, leading you around with refined steps as the music drifted over the ballroom. “But that’s not important. Are you having fun?”

You thought about the feel of your silken, gloved hand cradled between his fingers, you thought of the feel of his arm around you, and how close you were to him in the humming room. You thought of the way your dress rippled in vibrant, jewel-like waves, and you thought of how he looked at you, his smile like a sunrise and his expression overflowing with love.

Feeling your face flush, you couldn’t help but nod.

Standing on the shining, mirrored floor, you looked at him, and he looked at you, and he leaned in, slowly -

But he stopped, and you stopped, because - slipping out from a nearby couple - you had heard a hissing whisper that made you both go cold. _“Does she have no decency, being so intimate with that_ thing _in public?”_

You felt Gaster bristle, his mouth shifting into a sharp, firm line as he turned his glare towards the nobleman standing a mere few feet away. There was tension in the air, sharp and thick as he caught Gaster’s gaze - and, lips curling into a sneer, didn’t back down.

Gaster opened his mouth, about to snap some retort - you could feel his hand shaking slightly, feel his fingers tighter at your back - and you grabbed onto the crisp, black fabric covering his chest, tugging it and shaking your head slightly. You didn’t want him to fight. You didn’t want this to turn into a _thing._

You just wanted to be happy.

Gaster broke his gaze away from the man, looking down at you and softening some at your desperate look. Still, his sigh was gruff, frustrated - and when he kissed you, then, firm and fierce, you knew he was showing off some. Showing that he didn’t care, he _loved you,_ and anyone who judged you both for it could go fuck themselves.

They couldn’t do a damn thing to him. That they couldn’t do a damn thing to _you._

And - though it was embarrassing being kissed so firmly, so suddenly - you stood on your tiptoes, pressing into the feeling of his smooth mouth against yours - because you wanted to forget, too. Forget what they thought, when they felt - what the _world_ felt.

He ran a hand down the side of your dress, and then pulled back, slightly, stubbornly avoiding the gazes that were drawn to the two of you.

 

* * *

 

You wiped your forehead, sparing an irritated glance up at the sun and it's particularly offensive _heat_. Still, you couldn’t be too ungrateful - you hadn’t had to walk today, as one of the fellow members of your little caravan had been kind enough to let you and Gaster ride in the back of her wagon.

Not that it’d really been _comfortable -_ it was nothing compared to the smooth, dark stones of the palace that kept the halls cool in the summertime - but anything that allowed you to rest your feet was heaven. Now, you sat on the grass with him - and a few others scattered around, a diverse blend of humans and monsters that you only shared one thing in common with.

You all wanted to start a new life.

It was going to be fine, you told yourself as you pulled your little art kit out of your bag. Sure, you’d had to leave behind loads of your supplies, but you considered it… downsizing. Half of it was unnecessary, anyway! No, you had exactly what you needed, right here - a little bit of canvas, a few of your paints…

And Gaster, sitting there in the sun, light blossoming over his face and the simple clothing he’d chosen to wear.

He was quiet, looking over the path that you’d all traveled down - dusty, and marked heavily with deep grooves - but when he noticed you looking, he turned to you, offering a smile that was warm… but stained so horribly with guilt and shame.

“Don’t move!” You chided, voice still filled with cheer - you could be optimistic enough for the both of you. “Actually… hold on.”

You reached forward, tilting his face to the side with your fingertips. He gave you a somewhat inquisitive glance but complied, maintaining the position you arranged him in with his typical patience. Giving him a final, affectionate pat, you settled back into a sit and resumed your painting.

“What’re you doing?” he asked after a few minutes, restraining himself from looking over.

“Painting a portrait,” you explained, glancing down at the tiny, tiny frame with a tiny, tiny bit of canvas stretched over it. “I thought… a picture of us would be a nice thing to have.”

Keeping his shoulders in the same posture, he let out a soft laugh, and you saw a little of the stress melt away from his eyes. “I see. I’m excited to see it.”

“You should be! It’ll be the first painting of our new lives.” You hummed lightly, carefully dabbing little bits of color onto the material. With him near you, the warmth felt so much less oppressive...

And, despite everything, you could be at peace.

 

* * *

 

Years later, Doctor W. D. Gaster would remember those days, idly flicking through the scraps of memories that filled his albums. The flowers you’d gathered during your picnic and then pressed in his great, heavy books, a scrap he’d saved from your dress after it met an unfortunate end later that night, and - taking a place of honor at the very front - a small, hand painted portrait, protected by a thin sheet of glass he’d managed to attach to the inner cover.

He’d contemplate it for awhile, the brushstrokes and paint built up to depict him and, at his side, you, smiling and lovely and so, so very perfect. Gently, he’d run a finger across the glass, leaving no marks of his touch, and then he’d close the book, setting it safely aside in the drawer of his desk.

He’d get back to work, then, running his experiments and making his calculations, barely stopping to eat - to sleep, even, and every time he was tired, he’d pull that book out and start the process anew. It gave him hope - no… it gave him _determination,_ and even as his failures mounted, he never stopped. He never quit.

He just looked at that portrait you’d painted and reminded himself that he had to get back home to you, his precious Natalie.

 _They_ \- and _their wretched barrier_ \- didn’t mean anything to him at all.


	5. The Sword is Bested by the Pen - Or Whatever the Modern Equivalent is, I Guess (Reader & Alphys)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your name is Jess, and you fight honorably for the good of all monster kind! Er. Well. That's how your self-proclaimed sidekick likes to spin it, anyway, honestly, you kinda just... run a help-and-advice blog for all the poor sods who don't know how taxes work.
> 
> But you're pretty popular, and - through your work - you find yourself peeking into the lives of some truly adorable people. 
> 
> (Friend-fic featuring Alphys mostly, but also some Papyrus and Frisk.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a commissioned piece for @error-tooradforgenosans! Thanks so much for commissioning me, I really appreciate it!

Picture a tropical flower blooming for the first time in ten years, bright blue petals unfurling in the humid, sticky air. Leaves frame it, slick and shiny with warm rain, and, in the shadow of those great, green umbrellas, small flecks of yellow wind their way around the slim expanse of a nearby tree. Flashy, red trumpets burst out from the display, fanning around it like the golden ornamentation of a medieval manuscript and, tilting your head up, you can see chirruping birds, feathers reflecting the radiance of their song. Even higher, watching over it all, ivy crawls up bark and branch - reaching desperately for the light of the sky.

That was your life now, that garden of friendship, and - to continue the analogy - the seed of it all arrived in your inbox on a swelteringly muggy afternoon in June, delivered to you by a woman who you would later know as Doctor Alphys.

Jedediah Blake sat next to you that day, limbs unfurled on your Sailor Starlight Crystal Warriors bedspread as the skin melted off of his bones. Not literally, mind, though with the way he was going on about it, you could almost truly believe he was at death’s door and that, at any moment, a pit was going to open beneath him and deposit him into the Underworld.

You hoped it was Hades that came to claim him rather than the Devil. It was far too hot for fire and brimstone.

“I’m turning into a puddle, Jess! An actual puddle! I don’t know about you, but My goal plan in high-school didn’t include ‘achieve maximum viscosity!’

Jedediah - or, as you often called him, Jedi, a privilege offered to him because of your mutual status as Best Friends Forever - had a flair for the dramatic, so you were mostly tuning out his wailing as you clicked through messages and typed out replies. “You should be happy! Zan was always your favorite Wonder Twin.”

He made a thoroughly displeased farting noise with his mouth. “‘S ‘cuz he was the sidekick, not because he died from heat exhaustion.”

“Ah, yes,” you said, your words punctuated by a pair of soft clicks. “And how, exactly, are you going to be my sidekick when you can’t even maintain a solid form?”

“That’s the problem!” he wailed, and you finally looked down at him, watching him wiggle faintly in palpable despair.

If you weren’t already aware that he was a _huge_ loser, you might be inclined to admit that he was a decent looking guy, though not in a manner typical of movie posters and magazine covers. Thin, tall, reedy, with a dark complexion and a slightly crooked nose from where he’d broken it in fourth grade, his features were enough to draw notice on their own, and you weren’t really sure why he perpetually declared himself to be your ‘sidekick’. Honestly, it was surreal to you how _you_ were the one who’d amassed a significant online presence and not him, considering he was the one with the… _boisterous_ personality and memorable quirks.

Though you supposed that, in a way, he _did_ share in your internet fame, given that he did most of the technical work associated with your blogging operation.

It was funny, never once, in all of the times you were polled about your future aspirations, had you ever wanted to run an advice service for monsters, but here you were, writing posts, making videos, and talking with your fans, giving them help and encouragement in a world that often seemed to be lacking in both. Even when you’d seen the first news broadcasts, when you’d listened to them speak with a mixture of wonder and awe, you’d never imagined that _this_ was how you’d help them, that _this_ was your calling - and it wasn’t even you who’d gotten the idea in the end, it was _Jedi,_ sitting next to you in the car and listening to the radio broadcast.

It was so stupid, so trivial - yet it made sense. Of _course_ a race of people who’d been trapped under the ground for hundreds of years wouldn’t know how to take out a mortgage. Of course the banks would scam them with unfair terms, fleecing them out of their gold and what human currency they had.

Of course - it wasn’t just discrimination and violence they faced, it was a basic ignorance of how to function in a society so far removed from their own.

“Someone should write a guide,” he’d said quietly that day, knees raised to his chest as he curled up in the passenger seat. “‘Human Society 101’. Everything they’d ever need to know.”

You told him that he shouldn’t sit like that; if you got into a car-crash, he’d break his legs. But, instead of his usual devil-may-care attitude - (you’re a great hero, Jess! Heroes don’t get into _car crashes_ ) - he’d remained silent, wrapping his arms around himself tighter as the grimness of the news penetrated his soul.

Maybe that’s why you’d done it, in the end. Maybe that first article - ( _A Basic Guide to Home Ownership!)_ \- hadn’t been for them, it’d been for _him,_ for your best friend whose perpetual smile had dimmed that day. Maybe it’d been because such a simple thing could bring him joy, a mere comment that, well, you were a journalism major, it wouldn’t be _that_ hard to do some basic write-ups about human society. He’d beamed like the sun, his mouth crinkling up in delight, and -

“That’s a great idea! Justice Warrior Jess, wielding the Sword of Infinite Knowledge in defense of all monsterkind!”

...Well.

You thought he was a goof, but he was _your_ goof, and you might as well take the time to make him happy.

It had, quite quickly, spiraled out of control. Your blog immediately spiked in popularity, and, by day three, you had well over a hundred messages in your inbox asking not just about mortgages, but also taxes, the IRS, governmental structures, and also grocery shopping. Jedediah had lent you a hand in the initial onslaught, cracking open law books and helping you provide thorough-but-simple explanations for your many, many inquiring minds.

Within two weeks, you’d gotten a reputation as someone the monsters could ask about _anything_ and who would provide a thorough, simple, and often humor-laden response. At first, you’d meant to keep it as a mere hobby, but Jedi had taken it upon himself to start _marketing_ you, setting up ads, places to donate, and, perplexingly for you, a _video channel_ , editing and polishing footage of you providing informational videos about everything from changing tires to dissecting what all those fancy makeup terms really _mean._ You’d never asked him to lift a finger, but here he was, working his butt off, and - through his machinations - you were earning enough income from your blog that you could quit your shitty job at the local paper and finally, _finally_ sever yourself from your sexist, piece-of-shit boss who hit on you when he was drunk.

(He said it was a sidekick’s roll to do all these things, but you knew better. Jedi desperately wanted to help, but as much as he liked to pretend otherwise… he was _shy,_ and the thought of actually talking to any of these people petrified him with fear. It was so strange, to you, why couldn’t he just act like he did when he was just around you? But you didn’t judge, nor did you push him. As long as he was happy.)

And so, the two of you did your best to help the monsters of Ebott - whether it be educating them, or just chatting with them and showing them that not all humans were bad. They needed hope, and hope you provided, creating a friendly, supportive space that encouraged others with its boundless positivity. Sure, it wasn’t glamorous; you weren’t fighting off bad guys or running into burning buildings to save lives, but…

...It kind of did feel a little bit like you were a hero, and Jedi was your side-kick, just like when you’d both played pretend as kids.

Maybe the rush of fondness at the surge of memories that made you more sympathetic to Jedi’s plight, or maybe you were also feeling the heat, because - after contemplating him for a moment - you suggested, “Let’s go to the store. Get some ice-cream or something.”

Jedi rolled over, beaming at you. “Oh, yes _please!_ We need to boost our heat resistance to survive the coming battle!”

You stared at him flatly, fingers resting on the lid of your laptop. “...I was going to treat you, but now I’m reconsidering.”

He grinned at you. Jedi was a man who shared many similarities to a shaggy, overeager puppy, and the resemblance was never more apparent than in his smile. “Okay, okay, I’ll behave. Hey, how about we get an ice-cream _cake_?”

“Won’t fit in our freezer.” You stretched as you stood and - oh boy. Yeah. Definitely needed to put on some deodorant before you ventured outside your lair.

“It can be small!” he rolled after you - literally, rolled, the motion ending with him lying in a heap on the floor. “Tiny, even!”

Squint. “I’m pretty sure ice-cream cakes only come in _huge_ and _dear God, Helen, why did we let a class of fourth graders have so much sugar_. Can’t we just be normal and get a tub of Breyers?”

“Because I don’t _want_ to be normal! You’re a main character; you need to have an exotic and quirky lifestyle fitting your protagonist status.”

Sigh!  “Right. Okay. Fine, we can _look,_ but if it’s too big, we’re just getting popsicles.”

Your concession gave him the energy he needed to spring off the floor. “Yes ma’am!”

Shooing him from the room, you set about making yourself presentable - and it was as you picked your phone off the charger, you heard it - the tell tale _bing_ of a new message. Little did you know - it was the start of something wonderful.

>> DrTokage: Hello! I hope I’m not bothering you. I know you’re always encouraging people to message you, but I’m sure you’re a really busy person!

You opened the door with one hand, swishing your thumb across the keybad with practiced ease. Being a popular blogger gave you an interesting skillset, it seemed.

>> JusticeJess: Yoo! Don’t worry about it; I’m not working atm. Is that an Outlaw Star icon?

You knew it was, because you recognized the character - but people were often _really_ nervous about privately messaging you, and it helped to make idle comments like that. Take that, parents who had always doubted you! Your anime watching habit _had_ contributed to your professional development.

Jedi lofted a hand as you exited, pushing himself off the wall and following you out the front door. “What’ve you got there? New message?”

“Yeah.” You flashed the screen at him. Though Jedi had never talked to any of these people himself, he liked seeing your conversations with them. Considering he was your partner in do-goodery, you thought it only fair.

“Ooh, Aisha Clan-Clan. Good taste.”

He beamed, and you reached out to ruffle his shaggy hair. “You’re a nerd.”

“What kind of blog do they have?” He squeezed into your personal space as you both got on the elevator, though you didn’t really mind. Jedi was… _Jedi._

“Uhh… anime and astrophysics. And… female bodybuilders?” Your tone contained far more question marks then were actually represented in the text.

“How eclectic! Ooh, she replied.”

>> DrTokage: Yes, it is! My girlfriend and I watched it after seeing one of your recommendations posts, and it was great! She loved Aisha, and I’m trying to get her to cosplay as her! She acts a lot like Aisha, really - she’s super hotheaded!! - so I think it’d be absolutely great. She said it’d be weird since she has blue skin but I really don’t think that matters, and even if it did, face paint and makup exist! Humans cosplay as blue people all the time!

>> DrTokage: Um, I’m sorry! I got excited. What I mean to say is, we both really liked it.

>> DrTokage: You have good taste in anime.

“Well, that explains the bodybuilders,” Jedediah commented as you pushed the button for the ground floor.

“Hey, some people have tastes.”

>> JusticeJess: Oh my gosh!!! That sounds so cute!!! If she does, I would _love_ to see pictures! Have you been able to go to a convention yet?

Her reply didn’t come immediately, which was fine by you, because the elevator ride down wasn’t very long; you only lived on the third floor.

Jedi burst from the metal compartment as soon as he could, dancing across the lobby with energy born from sugary anticipation. He looked like a labrador, and you told him so, following at a much more mundane pace.

“Fair!” He grinned, spreading his arms out. “Dogs are loyal, and I’d say that’s my best quality… wouldn’t you?”

“Keep talking like that, and I’m going to put a leash on you.”

Jedi stuck his tongue out at you, holding the door open as he waited. You nodded your thanks; he could be well-behaved when he wanted.

The concrete was baking in the sunlight, and you almost immediately regretted stepping outside, feeling the heat wash over your skin. It wasn’t a far walk, though - just a few blocks - so you steeled yourself, plodding along the sidewalk with Jedi in tow. “It should be illegal to be this hot. Can we ban the sun?”

Jedi snorted. “Do you remember when we were in second grade, and you asked Missus Hollygrove if we could launch nuclear weapons at the sun and destroy it?”

You stared at him. “I don’t recall.”

“You did! I remember it clearly. Like it was yesterday!”

You were about to tell him that, well, it might have _been_ yesterday for all he’d matured, but you heard another bing from your phone.

>> DrTokage: Not yet… I’ve been busy with work. I’d really, really like to go to one, though! They look like so much fun.

>> DrTokage: Um, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could I ask you for some anime recommendations? You’ve got good taste, so… but if it’s a bother, don’t worry about it!

>> DrTokage: I can use Google.

“Oh, looks like I’m being asked to recommend more anime.”

“We should add that to your list of titles and accolades. ‘Garbage Connosieur.’”

You stuck your tongue at him.

>> JusticeJess: Oh, absolutely! What genre? Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?

You stared at the screen, waiting for the reply, and were about to put your phone back in your pocket when you heard another bing.

>> DrTokage: Um, it’s kind of embarrassing, but, er… I’m looking for yuri.

>> DrTokage: I watched some stuff, but it was kind of…

>> DrTokage: ...I’m sorry, I’m sure that’s weird! I’m really sorry!

>> DrTokage: I want something to watch with my girlfriend, and it doesn’t have to be romance anime! I just thought it would be nice to watch something with her that girls-liking-girls in it, because, you know.

>> DrTokage: I’m sorry!!!!

You stared as the messages filled your screen, and then snorted in amusement. Poor girl; she was probably super nervous. You’d try extra-hard to be friendly, then.

Jedi clapped his hands to his face. “Awh! That’s so cute! Look at you - patron saint of girl’s love!”

You gave him a look before assuaging DrTokage’s worries.

>> JusticeJess: It’s not weird, don’t worry about it.

>> JusticeJess: Let me guess… you’ve noticed that a lot of yuri is, well. Super weird?

>> DrTokage: Um. Yes.

>> DrTokage: It’s just very…? I don’t know how to describe it!!! So I was wondering if you knew anything good.

>> JusticeJess: Unfortunately, most yuri is written by men, for men. I dunno if you’ve seen me talking about it before, but fanservice is pretty prevalent in anime, because, well. People buy it. It’s not great, and there’s few genres where it's as… _bad_ as yuri.

>> JusticeJess: However, there _are_ some really great series out there, many of them written by women, for women. If you haven’t seen it, Sailor Moon is super fun. Haruka and Michiru are like, the goddesses of the preteen gay awakening.

>> JusticeJess: Revolutionary Girl Utena is…. kind of weird, but it’s also _amazing,_ and it's basically all about girls growing up. It examines toxic masculinity, the patriarchy, how women are treated… and it’s also gay as _hell._ I know things like gender are treated a lot differently in the monster world, so there might be some stuff that seems… weird to you, but it’s a great show and might give you some insight into what human girls go through.

>> Justice Jess: Also, Utena does a lot of fighting, so your girlfriend might like that.

You went on to recommend a few more series, ranging the spectrum of ‘high-school romance’ to ‘peppy action’, Jedi occasionally offering you insight and advice - including some manga, things you’d never even heard of.

“...I didn’t realize you’d read so much girl’s love,” you commented, side-eyeing him as you typed out another message.

“I, uh, don’t.” He coughed, looking away. “I just remember my sister’s collection.”

“Oh, right.” You mused over this. “How’s she doing, by the way? ...Is she married yet?”

It was Jedi’s turn to give you a look. “...She’s marrying her girlfriend this autumn. We’re _invited._ I’m in the bridal party! You’re going with me!”

“...Oh.”

“This is why I’m the one who keeps your schedule,” he said with a sigh, and you agreed.

>> DrTokage: Oh my gosh!! Thank you! I’ve written all of those down. I really, really appreciate it. I, um. I really, really hate to trouble you… but could I ask you for one more thing?

>> JusticeJess: Absolutely, go for it.

>> DrTokage: Do you know any anime with transgender characters in it?

>> DrTokage: Um, to explain - my… nibling, they like being called, is, um. They don’t… really want to be a girl or a boy. They like being called they. And, they really, REALLY liked watching Ouran because of Haruhi. And… I wanted… to find something like that for them.

>> DrTokage: They’re having a hard time at school, you see. Not everyone is nice.

>> DrTokage: ...And they’re really cheerful about it, but I - I know they like it. Watching things with me that have people like them in it.

>> DrTokage: Oh gosh, I’m sorry, that’s probably way too much information, I’m really, really sorry.

The messages kept coming in, and you finally interrupted it with one of your own.

>> JusticeJess: I promise you, it’s fine. I actually love hearing stuff like this.

>> JusticeJess: I know it can be really hard when you’re different. My recommendation is Wandering Son. It doesn’t have any agender characters, but it features young, transgender children hitting puberty and growing up. It’s… very sweet.

>> JusticeJess: I’d love to hear about how they like it, if you watch it. That goes for any of the others, too. It makes me happy when I can help people find things they like.

>> DrTokage: You’re very nice. Thank you.

Jedi watched you, watched your smile - and the heat didn’t seem to matter too much at the moment. Idly curious, you started scrolling through her blog as you walked - and then you stopped suddenly, staring at the screen. Curious, Jedi paused beside you and looked down, peering under the shade of your hand.

“What is it?” He asked, and you tilted it slightly, not really able to speak.

It was something so silly, something so simple - why had it made you tear up? It was just a picture of two, smiling monsters and a human child. The one on the left - holding the human’s left hand - was huge, and tall, with waves of red hair and vibrantly blue skin. It was the girlfriend, you assumed, and, yeah, DrTokage had a _type._ Next to her, the human - slightly scuffed from a day of play - was grinning, their eyes closed as they beamed into the camera. They looked so _pure,_ so _happy,_ and maybe it was the thought that… people treated this child badly because of something so stupid as _gender_. Who cared if they weren’t really a girl or a boy?

Or - maybe, maybe it was the monster to the right, that shyly smiling yellow woman with a polka-dotted dresses and huge glasses. Maybe it was their happiness, and the caption beneath it all - _Just a day with my family ☆*:.｡.o(≧▽≦)o.｡.:*☆_

It made you so emotional, for some strange reason, to see them, to see the people who _trusted_ you, the people who _talked_ to you - the people who you helped, every day, even though sometimes it felt like you couldn’t do anything at all.

You sniffled slightly, covering your face in embarrassment.

“Hey there,” Jedi said softly, idly pulling you in for a hug. “Everything good?”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, because you were, this was stupid, you were an adult woman and here you were, crying over some picture on the internet. “This is stupid.”

“Crying’s never stupid.” He patted the back of your head, and you rested your face on his shoulder, not really _sobbing,_ just… sniffing and tearing up a bit. “Even if it was, I’ve got you beat. Remember when I started crying because a cat licked my nose?”

“It was cute,” you mumbled, and he laughed.

“Basically the cutest thing ever.”

You composed yourself after about five minutes, and - once you’d started walking again - you replied to DrTokage’s latest message…

And, on a whim, hit the little ‘follow’ button on her blog.

You treasured these people, and the glimpses into their lives - and little did you know, that simple little press of a button would lead to many, many more happy memories.

 

* * *

 

“Jess, _Jess!_ There’s a clefairy this way!”

You stared at Jedi as he tugged on your arm, eyebrow quirked in faint confusion. “I thought you already had one of those?”

“You cannot possibly comprehend how many clefairy I need to melt down to create an ultra-clefable. Let’s go! C’mon!”

Sighing, you followed along after him, watching him bound forward in glee. For once, it was _you_ that was the obligatory crosswalk-watcher, and you called out to him before he got himself hit by a car. “Jedi, look where you’re _going._ ”

“It’s called peripheral vision, Jess, and mine is finely honed! I have veritable eagle-vision.”

“...Do birds even have that…?” You mumbled, resolving to google it later. For now, though - you felt your phone buzz in your hand, and it wasn’t due to the Pokemon Jedi had resolved to catch. No - you were being messaged, as you always were, and you trilled a bit once you realized it was DrTokage - or, as you now knew her - Alphys.

>> DrTokage: Your friend likes fairy-types, right? Look at what my girlfriend just caught. o(〃＾▽＾〃)o

A picture followed of a huge, fat, pink pokemon named ‘Punchmeister’ with a number below its name that seemed quite high. You vaguely remembered Jedediah showing you something like it. A…. pigglyjuff, maybe....? You squinted, and then raised your phone up, snapping a quick picture of Jedi down the street, beaming over his phone. With a flick, you sent it to Alphys.

>> JusticeJess: Woah, congratulations! I’ll show him in a sec. He’s on a mission… (｡･ω･｡)

(After Alphys had shown you a phone app that contained a multitude of cute faces, you’d taken to using them in your own messages to her.)

A picture soon arrived from Alphys of her girlfriend, Undyne, pumping her fist in the air with her phone in her other hand. There was a pink, bubbly filter slapped over the entire picture, which you thought was adorable.

>> DrTokage: She’s already hatched three 10km eggs. Today.

>> JusticeJess: I’m simultaneously terrified, proud, and completely unsurprised.

>> DrTokage: lol she’s having a pretty good time

>> DrTokage actuallllllyyy…. we’re sort of on a mission of our own. Are you busy? We could use some… idk. Advice.

You looked over at Jedi, who was completely enraptured in his pokefever, before turning your attention back to your phone.

>> JusticeJess: I’m just following the idiot around tbh. So, shoot!

>> DrTokage: Well! It’s almost Frisk’s birthday, and this is the first time we’ll get to spend it all together. So, I want to get them something nice. Something _really_ nice. y’know?

You knew. Over the months, Alphys had - bit by bit - come to tell you some things about their nibling. Mostly to get your advice… and it burned you inside, how much they needed to know about things like _child custody_ and _the CPS._

>> JusticeJess: What’s your budget?

>> DrTokage: none

>> DrTokage: but it’s so difficult!!! they don’t want anything! We take them out shopping and, like

>> DrTokage: It’s like they’re still not used to being able to have stuff, i guess… ;;;

You made a noise in the back of your throat, taking a few long strides forward to catch up with Jedi. “Hey, doofus.”

“Mmmn?” He didn’t look up from the screen, but you knew you had his attention.

“You’re young and spry; what’s the rage with kids these days?”

Okay, that made him avert his gaze from his game, giving you a dull look. “Jess, you’re the same age as me.”

“Yeah, but I’m not hip. Answer the question!”

“Uhh.” He paused, then looked down at the screen, venturing, “...Pokemon?”

A long look. Then. “Actually, that gives me an idea.”

>> JusticeJess: Out of curiosity, are they interested in Pokemon?

>> DrTokage: Ohhhh boy. Uh. Short answer: yes.

>> DrTokage: Long answer: Yes, they’ve actually played a lot of the phone-game with Undyne… and I’m interested in getting them one of the actual games, but, like. Where do I start? Do I get them the earliest ones? Do I get them the last ones that came out? What generation is best to start with? Should I, like, get them all the handheld things to catch them up??????

>> DrTokage: I’m totally willing to spend the money, I just… don’t know what’d be best????? Can you start with the new ones and it’s fine?

>> JusticeJess: Yeah, I’d say so. Here are my thoughts: get them a 3DS if they don’t have one, and get them a preorder for one of the new games that’re coming out. That way, they can play with people at school - and hopefully that’ll help them make friends and stuff. I know they’ve been having trouble. In the meantime, my suggestions for games are as follows.

>> JusticeJess: Animal Crossing - like, it’s a super peaceful game where you’re the mayor of a town and you befriend villagers and stuff. Basically, a perfect Frisk game. Professor Layton - sooo, the earlier games are for the DS, but a 3DS can play them and I recommend starting with the first. They’ve sorta got a story going on. It’s a puzzle game, and, like.

>> JusticeJess: You guys love puzzles, so Frisk can have some fun family bonding time playing it with their mom and stuff.

>> JusticeJess: There’s also Harvest Moon - farming games, basically, they’re weirdly fun - and, hmn… If you want to catch them up on stuff they’ve ‘missed’, there are Zelda and Mario games you can get. They might like Majora’s Mask, too, playing a character that sticks their noses into other’s business sounds great for them.

(Note: You had _no idea_ about the time travel thing.)

>> JusiceJess: If you need any more info on specifics, lemme know. I want Frisk to have a great birthday.

>> DrTokage: Omg, those all sound like perfect ideas, thank you. It’s just all so overwhelming, and I don’t want to get them the wrong things…

>> DrTokage: Seriously. Thank you. You’re kind of great?????? lol

>> JusticeJess: I do my best. Good luck with shopping. Feel free to send me pictures? I’d love to see what you get.

You smiled down at your phone, and then followed Jedi as he bounded off further to catch some-other pokewhatsit. Birthday, huh?

You hoped it’d be a good one.

 

* * *

 

 

That was not the last you heard of Frisk’s birthday that day - and, interestingly enough, it came from an entirely different source than usual. You were waiting in Taco Bell’s drive-thru lane, about to make some extremely questionable choices regarding your diet. Honestly, you usually stayed away from this stuff - but Jedi wanted to ‘complete the pokemon experience’ and get trash to eat, and, honestly, you weren’t really looking forward to cooking anyway.

Jedi noticed it first, since you were rooting through your wallet for a card to pay the cashier with. “Oh, hey. Message.”

“Mm?” you grunted, looking towards him after passing the plastic Key to Commerce over through the window. “Who from?”

He picked up your phone, swiping the screen and contemplating it like it held the secrets to the universe. “CoolSkeleton95.”

“Doesn’t sound familiar. I’ll take a look after.” You drummed your fingers on the wheel, then smiled at thanked the harried-looking cashier as you took your card back. A little pinch of niceness could be the key to making someone’s day!

“I could read it to you, if you wanted.” Though he was trying to be coy, he wanted you to say yes with some clear desperation, and you waved him on.

“Okay. Before I start - this is written in all caps. Like. This person is either super excited about talking to you or their caps-lock is broken. Do I have your permission to shout?”

You gave him a skeptical look. “...Please wait until we’ve gotten our food.”

He beamed at you, accepting your terms, and practically bounced in your seat as you both waited for your bag of terrible decisions. It was pretty cute, actually, and you felt bad for making him have to wait, but you knew you had to remain firm. Though you’d never see any of these people again, the thought of them remembering you as “those weird kids hyped up on cocaine” chafed you something fierce.

“Okay,” you finally said, looking both ways before you turned out onto the street. “Go for it.”

Jedi didn’t have to flick your phone on - he’d had the message up, primed and ready since you’d given your consent. After a quiet ‘ahem’, he began - and it took every ounce of willpower you possessed to keep your eyes on the road.

“HELLO, JUSTICEJESS! IT IS I, COOLSKELETON95, FINALLY HERE TO GRACE YOUR INBOX! YOU MAY APPLAUD, IF IT SUITS YOU, OR MAYBE DO A LITTLE DANCE! I LOVE LITTLE DANCES. I AM A FRIEND OF THE CERTIFIABLY EXCELLENT DOCTOR TOKAGE, AND I HAVE HAVE HEARD TELL THAT YOU ARE, AS THE HUMANS SAY IT, THE BEE’S KNEES WHEN IT COMES TO CHOOSING GIFTS! I WOULD LIKE TO BECOME YOUR DISCIPLE IN THE HUMBLE ART OF OFFERING GIFTS TO YOUNG CHILDREN! WHAT SAY YOU?”

The air hung between you, silent and still. “...Were you doing a Skeletor impersonation?”

“M-Maybe,” he managed through an onslaught of barely repressed giggling. “He’s CoolSkeleton95! How could I not? Anyway, how do you want to respond to this…?”

“Uh.” You mulled it over as you pulled up to a stoplight. “Tell him I’d love to be his teacher, I guess. Ask if it’s for Frisk.”

Tk-tk-tk. You heard the sounds of your digital keypad clicking as Jedi typed. “Okay… and… sent!”

After about thirty seconds, you heard your phone buzz again. “Oh boy,” you both said in unison, and Jedi checked your phone.

He took a deep breath in preparation. “EXCELLENT, I AM VERY GLAD TO BE UNDER THE TUTELAGE OF A SKILLED HUMAN SUCH AS YOURSELF -- oh my God.” There was a pause for Jedi to wheeze. “PARTICULARLY ONE SO KEENLY INTELLIGENT! YES, IT IS FOR THE DELIGHTFULLY SMALL HUMAN, FRISK! I HAVE ALREADY GOTTEN THEM AN ENCOURAGING POSTER WITH MY FACE EMBLAZONED ON IT, READY TO KEEP WATCH OVER THEM IN THEIR DARKEST HOUR, BUT I NEED SOMETHING… ELSE! SOMETHING WITH SPARK! NOT LITERAL SPARKS, MIND. I WOULD BE LECTURED IN A MOST GRIEVOUS FASHION IF I WERE TO DO THAT. NO ONE WOULD EVER HEAR FROM COOLSKELETON95 EVER AGAIN!”

You were dying about midway through. “Please, please ask him for a picture of the poster. I’m begging you.”

“Aaaalready on it.” Jedi sounded a bit hoarse, not that you were surprised. You knew he wouldn’t stop until he was dead, however, so you shoved one of the sodas in his direction.

He took a few grateful sips before making a disappointed noise in the back of his throat. “Aw, he doesn’t want to show his face to strangers.”

“Pft - alright, that’s fair. Ask him about his budget, and about any… _kind_ of thing he’s interested in getting them.”

Jedi conveyed your message, and you both waited with bated breath for his reply.

It came surprisingly late - a full five minutes - and was shorter than all of his other messages, giving you the impression that he’d either gotten distracted while writing or had wanted to choose his words carefully. “I DO NOT HAVE A ‘BUDGET!’ I LOVE MY SMALL, HUMAN FRIEND, AND MONEY IS NO OBJECT WHEN IT COMES TO THEM. I WAS THINKING ABOUT GETTING THEM SOME BOOKS, BECAUSE THEY LIKE SPENDING A LOT OF TIME AT THE LIBRARY, BUT I AM UNCERTAIN ABOUT WHAT HUMANS LIKE. I WAS HOPING YOU COULD GIVE ME SOME INSIGHT TO THIS PERPLEXING PROBLEM.”

“Books…” you mulled it over. “Ask him if he likes reading.”

“Can do!” His voice was a bit less… peppy than normal, but he seemed intent to push through the pain. After some waiting, Jedi announced, “I DO ENJOY READING, YES. I, HOWEVER, WAS NOT ABLE TO ACCESS MANY BOOKS IN THE UNDERGROUND, AND I FEAR MY EDUCATION IS SORELY LACKING. I’M NOT SURE WHAT WOULD BE APPROPRIATE FOR A GROWING HUMAN’S BRAIN.”

You smiled to yourself. “Alright, here’s my idea. Since Frisk has read a lot, and since Papyru-- I mean. CoolSkeleton95 seems like he could use some books of his own… I suggest that he get Frisk a gift-card to a bookstore, and plan a day to take them out shopping. It can be a fun, memorable day for them, and they can both help each other pick out books. Frisk sounds like they could really stand to make some happy memories, and that they love their family most of all. How’s that sound?”

Jedediah looked at you with a strange, gentle smile. “...You really think a lot about what would make other people happy, huh?”

You blushed a bit, focusing on pulling into the driveway instead of Jedi and his weirdly fond look. “Well. You know. It’s my job, now! Gotta be good at my job.”

“Hah. Justice Jess has to be the best! That could be your tagline, or something.”

“Please. No.”

Jedi’s laugh was musical in quality, and he passed you your phone, clearly done with the message. “I think it sounds like a wonderful idea, and I’m sure he’ll like it.”

He did, in fact, love it, and he sung your praises in enthusiastic glory. You gave him some suggestions about places to go and things to do on his ‘birthday-book-friendship-extravaganza’, and you closed the day on another successful mission with taco bell and the first Pokemon movie.

 

* * *

 

More flooded in after that. It seemed like word had spread of your talents, and much of monster kind was curious about what sort of gifts you’d recommend for a human. To ClapforSnails, you recommended composing them a song, and to Mettaton - the actual Mettaton, holy shit, the actual Mettaton account was messaging you - you recommended some nonbinary feel-good time with clothes and make-up. To YellowIsTheBestColor (who could apparently type with their feet? hot diggity!!) you suggested a copy of a cartoon which was well within their budget - and you were touched that they were willing to spend their entire allowance on their friend.

That seemed to be a common theme among them all, actually, ‘I don’t have a budget. I want Frisk to have the nicest present ever.’

Hell - someone with the screen name ‘timeforpunishment’ (who made an extraordinary number of upsetting jokes) said that he’d get off his bony butt and get them the moon, if they wanted it, and you suggested just getting them a telescope.

Something about your suggestion seemed to amuse him, but he liked it, and was probably going to go with it.

The days ticked by, the messages increasing in fervor until - one morning - everything was completely silent, until about four in the afternoon, when you checked your phone, and found a photo sent to you by a person named Determination.

It was of a brightly grinning child, surrounded by monsters as they prepared to blow out the candles of their cake. Everyone around them looked so proud, so happy - so delighted, and looking at it reminded you of a garden in the sunlight, full of bright color, happiness, and _life._ Their face and clothes were covered with bright purple ink, but they didn’t mind in the least, wearing it with pride as they leaned in to make their wish.

It was accompanied by a very simple caption. ‘Thank you, Jess. I had a wonderful day.’

You swallowed thickly, leaning against the counter and staring at your phone, and Jedi looked over from his pan of grilled-cheese sandwiches, clearly curious at what had you tearing up today.

He looked down at the picture for a moment, and then said quietly, “Let’s print that out and frame it.”

“Yeah,” you managed, rubbing at your eyes. “Yeah, I like that idea.”

It was, to you, a precious gift - their lives and their happiness - and to see it filled you with hope. For yourself, for this world -

And for them. All of them, that they might have another happy year.


	6. Pillow Talk (US!Papyrus x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i've been doing requests and not putting them here what's wrong with me!
> 
> Request was for US!Papyrus x Reader - pillow fort date!

You had thought this was going to be an easy, fun date.

You had been so horribly, horribly mistaken.

To be fair to yourself, you were bad at dating. In fact, before you met Papyrus, you’d never been on a date in your life. It hadn’t really been required in a skill-set that mostly demanded sneaking, stalking, and occasionally punching people with your tiny little doll-fists that, honestly, hurt way more than they had any right to. But you’d entered into this arrangement with him - of being his _love,_  his _partner_ \- and you wore the title on your breast like a badge of honor. It was one of your jobs now, to date him, and you took your jobs very, very seriously.

At the expense of everything else, you did your work with exacting thoroughness that terrified everyone you met.

Excepting Papyrus, of course, who never seemed to be able to muster up the energy to be… well, intimidated. In fact, he’d always treated you like you were kind of a useless idiot, which you sort of were deep down, because even though you could eviscerate a man, you couldn’t perform basic functions like… using a microwave, paying your taxes and, most embarrassingly enough, withdrawing money from an ATM. (He had made great fun of you for that one.) Your unusual life and upbringing had left you grossly unprepared for most aspects of the mundane world - dating included - and, due to your propensity for perfectionism at the few things you wanted to do…

Well, that lead to needing a lot of research.

To be honest, you might have, along the way, started reading Frisk’s slumber-party guide instead of the romance guide you’d bought, because how else could you arrive at _pillow fort building_  as your suggested date idea? Papyrus had thought it amusing enough to humor you, and that was how you’d ended up in his bedroom, attempting to craft some sort of structure from blankets and cushions. Going into things, you’d had high hopes. You would craft an impenetrable fortress out of down-stuffed cushions and race-car themed drapery, and… do… something?

You hadn’t gotten that far in your planning and the situation never demanded that you did, because you couldn’t even get past step one - building the darn thing.  
  
“Papyrus!” You whined, trying to shove him off the pillows he’d draped himself over. “Those are my materials!”

“mm, seems more like a mattress to me,” he oozed, lounging _all over_  the ceiling meant for your prospective fort. You pressed your foot into his side, trying to roll him off, but he had no interest in conceding to that particular whim of yours. In fact, aside from agreeing to the date, he’d done _absolutely nothing_  to help you, instead just… snoozing through all of your efforts. He slept through every crumble and collapse of your grand design, and only offered you mild encouragement as you growled about your failure. How was this a date when he wasn’t sharing any of the burden at all?

“It’s not a mattress, it’s our new home, and you should help me build it!”

At that, he finally shifted to look at you, a lazy grin playing across the bone of his face. “first it was going to be a fort, now this? you’re really upping the stakes, babe.”

“There are no stakes involved in any of this!” You huffed, carefully trying to balance one of the flat cushions you’d stolen from the couch. “If I had stakes, this would be much easier! Nothing would fall down!”

“wrong kind of stakes.” He propped himself up on his elbow, surveying your progress - a vaguely box-like structure with a blanket sprawled over it like a particularly fat, elderly dog. “i don’t know what you’re fretting about. it looks perfect.”

“It’s not perfect! It’s awful! Completely unsatisfying and upsetting to behold, like..” You waved vaguely. “Melted ice-cream, or a beetle smashed into the sidewalk! You deserve a better pillow palace.”

“it’s supposed to be a palace now…?” He tapped a finger against his cheek, watching as you fumed. Perhaps he was thinking, or perhaps he was just getting a private eyeful of you in one of his shirts; who could say?

“Yes!” You huffed, crossing your arms. Next it would be a pillow orbital space-station - er. Well. If you even knew those existed. It had kind of blown your mind when someone had finally told you that, yes, someone had walked on the moon.

(Your life had been _really weird.)_

Finally - finally! Papyrus rose from his lounge. “well. okay. since it means so much to you, i’ll help you out.”

“Really?” You said, too trusting to be skeptical, and Papyrus returned with a ‘really’ of his own before his body crashed into yours.

Papyrus was a big man, far bigger than you, so you found yourself trapped between the cushions and his bulk. You _could_  wriggle free or kick him until he released you, but that might hurt him, and there was no possible way you’d do that. “Papyrus!” You squeaked, the sound muffled by the orange hoodie he always insisted on wearing. “What are you doing?” 

“helping.” He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tight to his chest as he curled up among the blankets and pillows that lined the floor. His inelegant actions had caused the collapse of your latest efforts, forming a little triangle above you that only… sort of provided some shelter, and - with a somewhat lazy motion - he reached out, grabbing a red blanket and pulling it over you.

It was the definition of slipshod construction. “This isn’t helping! It looks awful!”

Papyrus chuckled, a low hum reverberating in his chest as he pressed his teeth to your forehead “babe, it doesn’t matter if it’s a cottage or a castle. if i’m with you, it’s home. alright?”

It took you a moment to process this and, once you did, your face dissolved into a fierce red blush. You were glad your face was buried in his chest; he’d definitely make fun of you if he saw you like this. 

It might not look amazing, but you had to admit it was comfortable, so you stopped protesting and allowed yourself to laze about with him inside the mess you’d created. Later, Sans would return home, find that all the furniture had been stripped of its cushions, and come harass the both of you into cleaning up after yourselves, but… Well.

That was later. This was now, and… the more you thought about it, the more you liked the awful little cushion teepee you’d created.


	7. Kitchen Nightmares (Papyrus x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Papyrus try to make dinner. Spoiler alert: it doesn't go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another request! This one was with Crane and Papyrus, with the prompt of them cooking.

“Okay,” you said, staring at the counter before you in a combined mix of fear and fascination. “What… do we do first?”

Papyrus would have swallowed if he could. Unfortunately, being a skeleton, he had nothing to swallow, so he settled for some vaguely nervous hand-wringing before puffing himself up into his normal boisterous confidence. “WELL, LET US CONSULT THE TOME OF INFINITE COOKING KNOWLEDGE, WHICH WILL PLOT OUT THE ENTIRETY OF OUR JOURNEY!”

Normally, neither of you would even bother with trivialities like  _instructions,_ instead letting your hearts be your guides but, well. Today, you were both preparing something for the Queen’s Summer Potluck, and the idea of bringing shame to your household in a public capacity suitably raised the stakes.

Your dish of choice was, oddly enough, lasagna. Papyrus wanted to mix things up, he’d said. Wanted to prove he could be a master of all varieties of pasta, rather than just the spaghetti he’d contented himself with for so long. You thought that, perhaps, you’d judged his spaghetti poorly so many times he wanted to break out of the cardboard noodle-box he’d put himself in for so long and try something new, but that was mere conjecture and wasn’t something you needed to say.

Besides, you were looking forward to trying something new with Papyrus. You’d never done any cooking yourself, but you’d determined yourself to learn, partially because you wanted to share in Papyrus’ interests, and partially because - well.

…You wanted him to taste something you’d made and tell you it was good. 

It was a simple wish, and a silly one, born from seeing Queen Toriel in her apron and acting so impressively motherly, but if the old stories said that a crane could become a wife, perhaps maybe you could become one, too.

With that private hope in your heart, you leaned in along with him, contemplating the cookbook spread out before you.

 

* * *

 

“Papyrus,” you said, staring at the swimming letters before you. “What’s a Dutch oven?”

“UH,” he said in reply and, not wanting to look bad in front of you, completely bullshitted an answer. “IT’S… A SPECIAL SETTING PUT ON OVENS IN THE NETHERLANDS! BUT, LUCKILY, I - THE GREAT PAPYRUS! - POSSESS AN OVEN CAPABLE OF REPLICATING THE ELDRITCH WISDOM OF THE DUTCH.”

“Oh. Okay. So… we put all this stuff in the oven?”

“ABSOLUTELY! FIRST, THOUGH, LET’S… FIND A POT TO PUT EVERYTHING IN.”

 

* * *

 

“Papyrus, the kitchen smells weird.”

“IT’S FINE, CRANE! EVERYTHING IS FINE. COOKING IS A CHEMICAL PROCESS, AND SOMETIMES THE CHEMICALS SMELL A LITTLE… OFF!”

 

* * *

 

“Are… you sure we were supposed to set the oven to - ” You squinted, looking at the little LED lights on the oven’s screen. “Three-hundred and fifty degrees?”

“OF COURSE, CRANE! WHEN THE RECIPE DOESN’T DEFINE A TEMPERATURE, YOU SHOULD JUST ASSUME THE DEFAULT.” That was how cooking worked, right?

Right!

 

* * *

 

“How much salt is… lightly salted?”

Papyrus thought for a moment. “LIKE A LIGHT SNOW?”

You thought for a moment in return. “That seems reasonable.”

 

* * *

 

“So.” A pause. You looked at the timer slowly counting down on the over before you. “What do we do in the hour this needs to cook?”

Papyrus looked down at you, then to the door of the kitchen, before looking down at you once more. “SANS ISN’T HOME,” he offered. “WE COULD MAKE OUT ON THE COUCH AND IT WOULDN’T BE WEIRD.”

“What if he comes home?”

Papyrus shrugged, his grin widening. “IT’S HIS FAULT FOR NOT KNOCKING!”

You felt like it was in poor form to force someone to knock when entering their own home, but you also didn’t care too terribly much - it was always fun to harass Sans and there was very, very little you could do to get underneath his metaphorical skin.

 _Cooking is fun,_ you thought to yourself as you followed Papyrus through the doorway. A niggling sensation of _you’re not doing this quite right_  pervaded the entire process, but you liked mixing, stirring, chopping, cutting, and… okay, not really smelling, because it really did smell awful, but you liked sampling the tomatoes and hearing Papyrus sing the cooking song he’d learned on Mettaton’s show.

You also liked filling the spare time with reprehensibly couple-esque behavior, such as stealing quick kisses, hand-holding and kitchen cuddling, but that was more to do with Papyrus himself than the actual cooking process.

 

* * *

 

 

The pair of you stared down at ominous red sludge lining the pot you’d pulled out of the oven. 

“I… think we messed up,” you said, the sound muffled from your hands covering your face. 

“I THINK YOU MIGHT BE RIGHT,” Papyrus reached out to swiftly begin the proper purification rituals. “LET’S JUST HEAT UP A JAR OF SPAGHETTI SAUCE. THAT’LL BE FINE IN LASAGNA, RIGHT?”

“That sounds right."

 

* * *

 

The both of you tried your… creation in tandem, counting down from three before putting your forks in each other’s mouths. 

You chewed.

He chewed.

“This isn’t fine,” you said after you spat it out into the sink. Your dreams had been shattered the moment the sauce had touched your tongue. “I don’t think I’m a very good cook.”

Papyrus stared down at you as he chewed and then - to his amazing credit - swallowed. “NONSENSE!” he managed, a faint warble in his voice. “YOU’RE AN AMAZING COOK! IN FACT, THIS IS SO DELICIOUS AND AMAZING DUE TO YOUR PRESENCE THAT WE CANNOT POSSIBLY GIVE THIS TO THE QUEEN - I HAVE TO EAT EVERY PIECE MYSELF!”

“Um.” You squinted at him. “What?”

Papyrus didn’t respond, instead voraciously shoving the hell-dished you’d forged together in the pits of Tartarus. “IT’S DELICIOUS!” He slurred. “YOU’RE AN EXCELLENT COOK!”

Your expression softened as you realized what he was trying to do. Gently, you put a hand on his arm and said, “Papyrus, it’s fine. I’m not sad about it. I liked spending time with you.”

Papyrus looked at you, a piece of wet noodle sticking out of his mouth, before spitting out the mouthful into the sink right next to yours. “LET’S… LET’S GO BUY SOMETHING READY-MADE FROM THE STORE, CRANE, TRYING TO BRANCH OUT FROM SPAGHETTI ON SUCH AN IMPORTANT OCCASION WAS A MISTAKE.”

“Agreed. Can I go hide in the bathroom? I don’t like the smell.”

Papyrus put his hand on your back, giving you an encouraging pat forward. “YES, PLEASE ESCAPE AND SAVE YOURSELF. I SHALL PUT ON RUBBER GLOVES AND TACKLE THE BEAST.”

As soon as you had his permission, you fled, looking back only briefly to call out, “Good luck!”

“AH, DO NOT WORRY! WITH SOMEONE AS LOVELY AS YOU WAITING FOR ME, I CANNOT POSSIBLY BE FELLED!”

Your giggle trailed after you as you escaped up the stairs.


	8. Picnic (Gaster x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You go on a picnic. It is saccharinely sweet. Same universe as Orange Soda and Coffee Cola! (PS - I do requests like this on my tumblr at glitterbark.tumblr.com!)

You decided that the lot of you should go on a picnic, and when you set your heart on something, it _happened_  dang-it.

Your standards were part of it - you’d learned not to dream big, learned to set the bar low so your expectations weren’t shattered, so most things under your self-imposed ceiling were well within your grasp. Another part was your personality - you didn’t ask for much, so when you did muster up the courage to make a request, those nearest and dearest to you threw away the world to help you. And part of it was just who your friends were - Alphys was too clever by half, Undyne punched things until circumstances aligned in her favor, and Gaster was the sort of man who shot for the stars, so you - by extension of dating him - found yourself dragged along for the ride.

Really though, maybe it was because you offered to cook the food. Your home made meals were good enough to be used as bargaining chips in hostage negotiations.

You’d picked a sunny, Saturday afternoon for the excursion, and had decided on a park that, funnily enough, was a roughly equilinear distance to all of your houses. You hadn’t wanted to inconvenience anyone in particular, and it was a nice enough place, full of fat, sweet-smelling roses and broad, sturdy oaks. Though you’d arranged to meet about noon, you arrived a bit early and, quite typically, Gaster had too, being a Stickler about punctuality. So you’d, y’know, had a little time in just each other’s company, which of course resulted in your devolvement into easily embarrassed teenagers…

…Which was probably why, when Alphys and Undyne arrived, it ended up feeling more like a double date than a friendly hangout.

“Say, uh… say…. ah…?” Alphys stuttered, holding a stuffed tomato between her claws. You watched her look up at Undyne timidly, not quite sure if she was doing the cutesy-couple feeding routine right.

“Ahhhh,” Undyne said in return, exposing her cavernous maw to the world. Briefly, Alphys looked intimidated, and even more briefly, you couldn’t help but wonder if the littler monster was into biting at all because god did that look scary. You remembered hearing a story from Undyne’s mother about being called into the office because your best friend had bitten someone in first grade and gotten blood everywhere.

There’d been quite the debacle after that.

For a moment, the adorable domestic scene before you warmed your heart, of Alphys putting the little tomato in Undyne’s mouth, blushing and smiling, but immediately it was ruined by Undyne’s voracious hunger and inclination towards treating everything like a war, as she - quite promptly - picked up the plate and dumped everything into her mouth.

“Undyne!” you chided, completely aghast. “Those are for everyone!”

“Yeah?” She replied, the sound muffled from her full mouth. She looked at you tauntingly, bits of red skin sticking between her teeth. “Come ge’hm.”

You were completely uninterested in trying to extract anything from Undyne once she’d gotten her mitts on it, so you sighed before taking the saran wrap off of the plate of sandwiches you’d made. “Well… I guess there’s a lot of other stuff, too.”

Gaster peeked into the basket, as if curious about the actual amount of food you’d prepared, and a brief note of surprise escaped him. Hidden within the woven depths included - but were not limited to - fruit salad, regular salad, devilled eggs, sauteed chicken, cole slaw, brownies, fruit-crumb bars, potato salad, and various chopped vegetables and cheeses. “H-How long did this take?”

“Um…” You mulled over the question seriously. “Dunno. I made most of it the night before.”

“I – I don’t know if we can eat this all,” he managed, and you knew he was doing that thing where he tried to cover up his embarrassment with practicality, which you thought was super cute.

You tapped him on the cheek, smiling. “Then you’ll have to take some home, yeah? I’m sure your family would love the treat.”

Gaster seemed like he couldn’t quite decide if he wanted to look at you or not, and Undyne grinned at you in this triumphant way that just felt mocking, even though she didn’t say anything.

Still somewhat chafed from her earlier failures, Alphys distracted herself with the deviled eggs and, from her hum of surprise, seemed to find it to her satisfaction. “This is… really good…! How’d you get s-so good at cooking?”

“Elbow grease!” You grinned, and then polished your reply off with a shrug. “My dad basically let me have free reign of the kitchen since I was young, and I kinda took to it.”

“W-wow! Mine are always worried I’ll hurt myself…” Alphys pushed her fingertips together, but the gesture only lasted a moment because Undyne threw her arm around her girlfriend and pulled her close in a suitably dramatic fashion.

“If you wanna cook, then follow your dreams! Through caution to the wind! And if the stove even DARES to burn you, I’ll punch it into space!!”

“Undyne,” you said flatly, “Please don’t punch the stove into space.”

Gaster - obviously - only had a wry comment to contribute. “If only she was born a few decades earlier, we wouldn’t have had to spend so much effort sending a man to the moon. The space program could have consisted entirely of Undyne’s fists.”

Undyne beamed, her fanged smile shining bright in the afternoon sun. “Undyne the Astrophysicist, huh? I kinda like the sound of that! What’ll you be, Alphys? The Reigning Queen of Robotics?”

“I-I hope so,” she giggled, twirling her fingers around each other. “That’d make me happy.”

Their gazes turned to you, obviously expecting you to join in on their game, and you thought about it seriously, tapping your cheek in your deep, exaggerated contemplation. “What could I be a Doctor of…”

“Linguistics?” Gaster offered, and you stuck your tongue out at him.

“These are supposed to be fun answers, you numpty. Not serious ones.”

Undyne’s attention turned to Gaster, and she squinted. “I think Gaster should have a Doctorate in Being Boring.”

“I’m not boring!”

“What are you, then?”

Inspiration struck you, and you suddenly threw your arm around Gaster, leaning against him and tapping the side of his head. “I present to you - The Future Doctor W. D. Gaster, with a Doctorate in Nerdology and Being a Cutie Patootie.”

He sent you a highly dubious look, a perfect contrast to your proud expression. “I can’t believe you just said that word. Wait. No, I can. It’s completely within character.”

“O-Oh, stay like that,” Alphys pulled her phone out of her pokeball shaped purse, the phone charms hanging off the side glinting in the light. “I’m going to take a photo.

“Ooh! Please do!”

“Please don’t,” Gaster whined, his face slightly scrunched up.

Your teasing laugh rung out over the park, and you affectionately traced your finger along the side of his face. “I want a picture. Now look cute and pose.”

Sighing, Gaster linked his fingers through yours, though he still didn’t look at Alphys or her phone, which you obviously interpreted as him being stubborn.

“Gaster, look at the camera! You’re ruining our commemorative photo.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he said, still finding himself unable to avert his gaze. Was it embarrassment? Was it fascination? …Who could say?

You heard Alphys laugh as she pressed her thumb against the screen. “Also, stop touching my face. What are you trying to accomplish with this?”

“It’s called fun,” you teased, turning and nudging your nose into the side of his face. “Ever heard of it?”

This got him to blush, and he reflexively pulled away. “You are some sort of demon sent to torment me, aren’t you?”

Undyne laughed boisterously at this, gesturing at you before leaning over her girlfriend so she could see the image captured on the screen. “I’m pretty sure they’d be the most ineffective demon on the planet. I mean, look at this.”

She took Alphys’ phone from her, turning it around to show the pair of you. “See? Look at this. It’s so cute and wholesome it’d make Satan puke.”

Finally, you gave Gaster some breathing room as you leaned in for a closer look, though you didn’t yet let go of his hand. “Oh, hey! You’re really good at taking pictures, Alphys! I don’t look like a total idiot for once.”

This caused the yellow monster to flush a pretty orange shade. “Oh, um, th-thank - thank you…”

Undyne seemed to find this irresistibly adorable, so she swept Alphys up into a crushing hug. “Take a picture of us, now! I’ll hang it on my wall!”

“Undyne…!” Alphys squeaked, and you could only laugh as you fished for your own phone.

You snapped a picture, and then another, finding yourself thinking about photographs and the trapped memories inside. Even if these days faded, even if the hours turned to ones of sorrow - you’d have these memories, and these reminders of a time when you were most happy. It was true, you didn’t ask for much - but it didn’t take much to bring you joy, and something so simple…?

It was so easily attainable, and yet it was everything you could ever hope for.


	9. The Ballad of the River Wye (Gaster x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Doctor W. D. Gaster finds himself in something of a terrible situation, and his salvation comes in the form of you, a mysterious stranger who lives underneath a bridge.

One day, the biggest idiot in the world - Doctor W. D. Gaster - almost died and, subsequently, he promised his entire life to you.

As might be expected, there were a lot of details that quantified and clarified this bizarre set of circumstances, although quite honestly, you didn’t have the willpower to be concerned with trivialities like that. They’d interested you once, long ago in forgotten days, but now? It was a foreign concept, a distant one - like looking at a skyscraper on the horizon or the mist-covered moon in the sky above. Even now, with that foolish man coming around daily to bother you, it was difficult to really concern yourself with how  _ exactly _ this arrangement had come to pass. Simply put though…

He had fallen off of the bridge, and you had dragged him back to shore.

You often sat on the banks of the River Wye, fishing away your afternoons with the idleness you’d cultivated from years of apathy, and it was there you saw his dark shape plummeting into the water. You’d thought it was a trashbag at first, some forsaken refuse discarded by a careless passerby, but plastic never thrashed like that and, while having hands and arms didn’t necessarily mark a living thing, you figured it had enough value to be hauled out of the water. Not that you really  _ wanted _ to, it seemed like a chore, but no one else was beneath the bridge that day which meant that, logically, the task belonged to you.

Regardless, you watched for a few minutes, as if hoping the situation would sort itself out. 

It didn’t, the strange shape’s movements only becoming more and more desperate as it struggled to keep afloat, and you stood, reeling in your line and dropping it carelessly on the ground. Whatever was out there had scared all the fish off, anyway… and, in the end, you supposed you didn’t have anything better to do.

You leapt into the water, glinting like a silverfish or a minnow dragged to the surface. You could swim, like you could do most things that required physical aptitude, so it was easy enough to grab onto that writhing, damp mass of gooey black fabric and haul it back to the river’s bank. At first, it resisted - a scream piercing the air until it choked and gurgled into the water - but apparently it had the instincts to realize that you were its only salvation, because it gripped onto you like you were the only solid thing for miles.

The water rippled and broke as you dug your fingers into the edge of the shore and heaved yourself up. Your hair, your face, everything had gotten thoroughly soaked, but it was nothing compared to the parcel clinging to your back, with its arms wrapped tightly around your neck and its legs hooked around the metal encasing your middle. In the competition of looking pathetic, it had you beaten by an incredible margin.

You trudged a few paces away from the water before kneeling, allowing the bundle on your back to collapse into a heap on the grass. It curled in on itself, trembling and coughing, and you could make out an actual form now, with shoulders and hips and something that kind of looked like legs... though the limbs oozed together a bit and ran with an oily substance that shone in the bright afternoon light. You weren’t exactly…  _ concerned, _ per se, your heart felt too dull and blunted for that, but it was a bit of an awkward predicament and it would be inconvenient if he died. Not only would people probably ask questions, but you’d also get dust all over your stuff, so after a few minutes you nudged him idly with the steel of your boot and hoped he would say something.

_ “Give me a minute!” _ he snarled, swatting at you with his oddly pale hand. No - not just pale, it was pure white, with delicate joints and a perfectly circular hole split through its palm. His face, too, was made of that same hard material, and it glimmered with water droplets that dripped down his cheeks - but you didn’t notice that, really.

Not with fractures split through the bone and the fresh, dark bruises marring the porcelain smoothness of his features. Water slipped from his mouth, and with it was an odd, goopy substance that seemed equivalent to blood, which inspired in you enough concern to have you lean in close and survey his injuries.

Apparently, putting your face about an inch from his face was not acceptable, because he jammed his palm against your cheek and snarled in a way that revealed its pristine white fangs. “Back off!” He hacked, turning away from you and spitting up more water. “I mean it, back off! I’m fine!”

“No you’re not. You need treatment.”

One of his eyes seemed to be so damaged that only a glimmer of light could escape it, but the other one gleamed with overt hostility, and - ...fear, perhaps? “I’m  _ fine, _ and I certainly don’t need some - “ Hack, cough. Flecks of something dark stained the ground as he turned away from you, and he gritted his teeth before he continued. “Some oddly dressed, disreputable  _ cur _ asking after my well-being!”

Well, here was a real charmer. You stared at him as he tried to push himself to his feet and then - somewhat comically considering his bluster - fall to the ground once more. He clutched his leg, hissing… And looking down at it, the entire limb seemed significantly more formless than the other.

“You can’t walk."

You reached out for him, trying to pick him up, and he recoiled from your touch with an expression clouded with prickly rage. “I said to  _ leave me be! _ ” His voice sounded hoarse, rough - and a bit weak, though his anger made him able to speak over the glug of the river and the distant, misty hiss of the dam it emptied out into.

“Shouldn’t you be more considerate to the person who saved you?” You said, your mouth firming into a line, and he scoffed.

“Saved? I didn’t need saving, and I - I don’t intend to be extorted for your entirely unnecessary service.” He tried to push himself up again, and it was pathetic to watch, though you did anyway, your arms resting on your knees.

“Where do you intend to go?"

He managed to stand this time, though very clearly favored his right leg, and then turned to point a finger at your metal chest. “That is  _ none _ of your business.”

It was then that you noticed faint figures on the bridge starting to come down the river where you were, and you squinted, peering at the dark shapes as they made their way along the long, winding path. Visitors were rare, at least, coming from that direction, and you let out a soft, contemplative  _ huh. _

The monster flinched, following your gaze as if he was searching desperately for something. “What?” he hissed, but the word was filled with an odd note of fear.

“More people. I wonder what they want down here? There’s nothing but grass and fish.”

You heard the man’s breath quicken, and he started to walk towards the dark shadow underneath the bridge, though because he had nothing to support him it was a miserably slow limp. He said nothing to you, and - watching him slink away - you considered just leaving him and going back to your fishing. It wasn’t your problem. You’d done enough.

Maybe it was boredom, or maybe it was a whim… Or - and this was so unlikely that it didn’t even bear mentioning -  _ maybe  _ there was still a little part of you that actually remembered what it was like, wanting to help people. You sighed deeply before starting forward and, before the drenched man could react - you grabbed onto his arm and slung it around your shoulder.

“What - ” he started, an angry growl humming through his body, and you send him a profoundly unamused look.

“Shut up. This is annoying to watch.”

From the way he bristled, he was about to snap something in return, but a voice on the breeze stopped him short.

“This way!”

It was a simple pair of words, but something about them froze the man cold, and you conveyed your flat annoyance with this in the way you looked at him and said, “Are you still going to fight me?”

He gritted his teeth, refraining from replying as he leaned against you. The pair of you took a few steps like this, you helping down the river, before he finally grumbled something out.

“Why the hell are you wearing armor? It’s 210x; haven’t humans been done with that kind of thing for hundreds of years now?”

You stared ahead blankly. “What’s it matter to you?”

“It’s ridiculous and is making this very uncomfortable.”

You mulled over your reply for a few moments and, in fact, considered not even saying anything. But then, as the shadow of the bridge draped over your form - gauntlets, greaves, and thick, heavy boots - you finally replied. “I like it.”

He clearly wanted to make another disparaging comment, but something at his feet seemed to stop him short. He had, apparently, noticed your home - that is, the ragged, dirty mattress that served as the spot where you slept, along with the milk-crate that contained your armor polish, the cloth bag holding the rest of your things, and - lying on top of the thin blanket you had - your sword.

_ What the fuck  _ he mouthed, staring at these assorted objects with the look of a man who was clearly certain he’d just been lured into a murder-den. You ignored it, not feeling like explaining, and you idly kicked your sword a little farther away before forcing him to sit down on your bed.

The man, of course, protested. “Wh-I don’t- _ hey!”  _ Swatting at you, he tried to stumble away, which lead to him banging his shoulder against the stone curve supporting the bridge’s underside. “I - not only do I not want to sit on  _ that, _ but I’d like to keep  _ moving _ , thank you!”

You hooked your thumb back behind you, pointing at the sunlight the pair of you had stepped out from. “Those people - they hurt you, right? Beat you up, and pushed you off the bridge?”   


The man stopped short, contemplating you with eyes that glowed in the gloom. “I - yes. Something like that. Which is why I’d like to  _ leave _ before they finish the job.”

“Okay.” You rolled your shoulder, placing metal fingers on top of one of pauldrons before mimicking the same motion with your other arm. “I’ll make them go away, and then I’ll take you to the hospital.”

He said nothing, just… staring at you with fingers that had clenched themselves into fists. You took this as acceptance, and you turned away from him, calling something back over your shoulder. “Sit and rest your leg. Don’t try to move. I’ll stop you if you do.”

“Uh,” he said, still staring, and you kept walking before coming to a stop at the entrance of the tunnel and folding your arms across your chest.

You didn’t know that man was called W. D. Gaster yet, though you’d learn soon enough as that group of four or so men approached you. Nor did you know why, exactly, a group clad in dark suits and exorbitantly expensive sunglasses wanted to beat him into dust, but you honestly didn’t care. Honestly, you just wanted them to shut up and leave you alone, which is why - on that sudden afternoon - Gaster watched you single handedly demolish four armed men with nothing but your fists. He hadn’t meant to sit down on that horrible mattress,  _ really, _ but he couldn’t help it in his shock as you, looking like some sort of specimen from an exhibit on medieval knights, sent a group of mobsters running home crying without breaking a sweat. 

Your foot slammed into one man’s knee, your fist slammed into another’s - you threw a third over your shoulder, pummeling him into the ground while catching the fourth man’s wrist. It broke sharply in your grip, forcing him to drop the gun he’d been holding while he bit back a scream. One of them had tried to put you in a chokehold, and Gaster had almost tried to run at that, leave you and your  _ clear and apparent insanity  _ behind, but you’d effortlessly disarmed your attacker by spiking your elbow into his neck.

They’d run from you - of course they had, because how could anyone possibly fight what appeared to be a demon who lived beneath a bridge?

Gaster watched as you trudged back, a vaguely tired expression on your face, and if he’d had a heart, it probably would have stopped in that moment.

“That all of them?” You grumbled, and it looked like they  _ hadn’t even touched you. _

_ “What the fuck,”  _ he whispered.  _ “What the absolute fuck.” _

You pinched your nose between your metal fingers. “Okay, just tell me where you live. I’ll take you home.”

_ “I don’t want you knowing where I live!” _ he wheezed, clearly on the verge of panic, and - okay. You couldn’t really blame him for that.

“‘Kay. Then - where should I take you?”

He put his face in his hands, curling up in on himself a bit as he sat on your shitty, awful mattress. “I - I… Please, give me a few moments to collect myself and decide what I want to do.”

This was fair, and you said so, sitting yourself down beside him with a grunt. You leaned back against the slightly damp wall you’d become so familiar with the past few years and watched as the odd man beside you fiddled, fidgeted, and tried to get a handle on his breathing. He seemed so different now, once he’d been stripped of his defensive fury - but honestly, you didn’t put much thought into it, and sort of just… turned your mind off for awhile.

“...Your name,” he rasped, staring at the water that flowed beneath the bridge. “What is it?”

You hummed vaguely, thinking about it. “Call me Wye.”

“Wye? ...I see. Ah…” He trailed off, gingerly touching his bruised cheek. “I’m - I’m Gaster. Doctor W. D. Gaster. I - You’ve… done me a greater service than I can repay, and I am not interested in being in your debt.”

Your eyes climbed into your hairline as Gaster rummaged through his sodden pockets and extracted a wallet. He flipped it open, pulling a thick quantity of bills from it and shoving most of them beneath your nose. Little  _ 20s _ and  _ 100s _ glinted beneath your nose, and you stared at his face turned away from you, thoroughly confused.

“Take them,” he prompted. “As payment. You’re poor, so - ...buy food or something. Drugs. Whatever it is you want, and then don’t mention this encounter to anyone.”

You stared at those damp, meaningless pieces of paper for a moment, and then gently pushed his hand away. “I don’t want them.”

“Is it - not enough?” He asked, clearly tired, and you shook your head.

“I don’t want money. It’s useless to me.”

Gaster looked at you like you were speaking in tongues, and his mouth slanted in extreme dissatisfaction. “Fine. What is it you want, then? I can get you anything. Even something intangible, like revenge - there has to be something.”

You squinted, puzzling the matter over before deciding, “There’s nothing I want.

Gaster seemed completely aghast. “What are you, a Buddhist? I can get you armor, if you want. A new sword. Some other reenactment paraphernalia, if that’s what you want. Again, there has to be  _ something.” _

You sighed again at the man’s annoying persistence, and then, resting your cheek on your hand, you suggested it. “How about you fall in love with me? No one’s ever done that before.”

For at least a full minute, that miserable, dripping wet and bleeding man stared at you before finally saying - “What?”

Your reply was dispassionate. “Fall in love with me. I’m told it’s the best thing in the world. Maybe it might be nice.”

“I - ” You were becoming very familiar with the way he struggled for words, and how he gestured widely when he was annoyed with something. “I can’t do that; that’s idiotic! Love is cheap,  _ worthless _ \- the product of chemicals in the brain and vibrations in the soul. Why would you want that? Why would you want it from  _ me?” _

You shrugged, looking down into the dark, gurgling water. “If it’s cheap, you can give it to me easily, right?”

“I -  _ not, _ that’s not… Look.” He wiped at his face, closing his one good eye. “There’s a public phone not too far from here. Take me there, and I’ll call someone to get me, and - ...This is where you live?”

You nodded.

“I’ll find some way to repay you, then, some thing you must want. Just because you’re unimaginative doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

“So you won’t fall in love with me?” There wasn’t disappointment in your tone - honestly, there wasn’t much of anything at all. But the way you looked at him, quiet and searching… there was something about it, something that made him not really think about the next thing he said.

“If I can find nothing else, then - fine. I will. I’ll fall in love with you.” Quickly though, he added, “But I’m certain that won’t be the case. I’ll repay you with something better than a dirty emotion like that.”

You said nothing, simply offering your hand to him… which he stared at, clearly baffled. “What… is it?”

“Shake on it?” You explained, flicking your gaze down to the metal gauntlet before looking up at him. “It’s proper, isn’t it?”

“Uh - yes. Right. Fine.” His thin bones wrapped around yours, and you shook his hand, sealing the contract before releasing it. He seemed dazed, baffled, and in that brief, unguarded moment, you reached out, slipping your arms underneath his legs and heaving him up.

Any peace you’d had with him was destroyed with the action, and he immediately banged on your breastplate with his fist. “What do you think you’re doing? Unhand me immediately!”

“‘S easier. Where’s the phone?” You started walking, water pooling around you like some sort of swamp creature, and Gaster seemed to realize that, much to his chagrin, this wasn’t going to work out in his favor. Made somewhat more docile by exhaustion and pain, he said, “Go up to the road. I’ll direct you from there.”

“‘Kay,” you said simply, observing the man in your arms for a moment before looking up ahead. You didn’t care, not really. It was a pointless request, made on a whim without much attachment. But - in some part of yourself, deep down - you sort-of-kind-of wondered if maybe, just maybe… if someone loved you, would things get better? If someone loved you, would you feel things again?

If someone loved you… would you, beneath that bridge, come to understand what happiness was again?

You - the forgotten demon beside the river Wye - would being loved help you understand why you existed?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow okay uh
> 
> So this was a request on tumblr for a tsundere Gaster that got horribly out of hand. Honestly, this feels to me like the first chapter of a fic, though I'm hesitant to start something new when I've already got a fair bit of work to do on other things. I had so much fun with this, though.... so please do let me know if you like this. It might influence if I ever continue it.


	10. The Alchemist and His Assistant (Part 1) - Gaster x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (this twoshot rated M for frank discussions of sexuality and also making out in part 2)
> 
> When you were born in that little glass tube, you never expected that you'd end up as the assistant to an irritable alchemist employed by the Delta "Association." But life certainly has a way of surprising you, often times in the worst of ways, which was how you and your employer ended up in getting trashed in a speakeasy to forget your woes.
> 
> Strangely enough, though, some interesting topics get brought up... and Gaster shows a side of himself you've never really seen before.
> 
> (Mobtale. Sort of. Very inspired by Baccano!)
> 
> Because of length, this oneshot is........ ....a twoshot. Enjoy!

“Grillby,” you said, plopping down onto the solid-oak barstool. “Give me something that’ll make me forget today ever happened.”

Next to you, Gaster leaned on the counter, his eyes hollow and his voice dead. “And I’ll have the same.”

Grillby looked at the pair of you, eyebrow half-quirked in that inquisitive way of his. You knew it was an invitation, for you and Gaster to unload your troubles on your stalwart friend, but your companion and employer waved the bartender onward with a vague flick of his wrist.

“Drinks first.”

Shrugging, Grillby turned away, and you leaned back against your elbow, easing out a breath as you surveyed the speakeasy floor. Monsters littered the tables, their jackets and vests in various states of disarray as they entertained themselves in the illicit pastimes typical of the Dreemurr family. Drinking, gambling, generally bawdy behavior - such was the way of a prominent crime family, and it still felt a little odd to you that they all called you  _ cousin. _

You looked nothing like them, you’d been raised - if you could even call it that? - nothing like them, and you hadn’t even come into their association on your own power… and yet here you were, a typical sight along with your master, and no one thought it strange at all. Maybe that’s why the day’s dealings ran so sour with you - because here, if someone was an ignorant fucker, you could just lob a punch and get the matter settled squarely. Gaster wouldn’t protest; he thought it was hilarious to indulge your prominent temper, and honestly, he only egged you on when you got your dander all ruffled up.

“I can’t believe what an  _ asinine _ waste of time this entire evening was _ ,” _ he hissed next to you, drumming his knucklebones on the countertop as he waited for Grillby to return. You’d heard this about five times now, along with a number of choice expletives and equally creative threats. Gaster was  _ steamed,  _ and you couldn’t honestly blame him.

“Humans are morons, sir,” you said simply, turning back to look at him. “A flock of idiot children with more ambition than sense.”

He snorted, an indignant puff of air that escaped his sharp nose. “Truly. And I thought having you with me would help matters.”

“I can only pass for one aesthetically. I’ve no knack for everything else.” You shrugged, and it seemed to amuse him.

“Good, because I might find you intolerable otherwise.” 

Grillby returned, setting down a pair of drinks before you with his normally delicate touch. Gaster’s was, as usual, disgustingly sweet and brightly colored, while yours was as dark as the pits of hell. You didn’t think twice, grabbing the glass and slamming half of it back in a single gulp.

It was bitter and strong, and you felt your shoulders relax.

Gaster performed much the same motion, growling in frustration after his first draught. Grillby, bless his heart, crackled in concern as he watched. He was such a sympathetic soul - at least, to the pair of you he was. Perhaps it was because of your academic backgrounds, setting you a notch above most of the common rabble he served, or perhaps it was because - despite your respective surliness - you didn’t actually cause him much trouble. The both of you usually wanted to get plastered in peace, and occasionally you offered interesting diatribes about your toils.

Such were the benefits of serving an alchemist and his assistant.

“We met with Bentley and Ford today,” you explained, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “It went  _ spectacularly  _ poorly.”

Gaster took another draught, and it was honestly hilarious seeing him chug his stupid fruity cocktail. “They are a pair of absolute  _ fucks,  _ and I should have burned their office to the ground.”

“Asgore said no more arson without his explicit permission, sir.”

“Oh, fuck off.” After a final impressive dip, Gaster offered his glass back to Grillby in a silent plea for a refill. “I’d have their warehouses crackling like a Christmas tree in July, and he wouldn’t be any the wiser.”

You made a noncommittal sound, watching Grillby prepare Gaster’s refill. It was a different sort of brewing than what you did, but you appreciated the art in it. You and Gaster turned lead into gold, and - in return for your services - Grillby turned out the stuff of the gods. In a way, wasn’t this equivalent exchange?

After sliding a few mugs of beer down the line, Grillby returned to your side, arms crossed as he looked down at the pair of you. You’d been a bit coy about the trouble, so it was only natural he still looked curious, and you gave your boss an inquisitive look which silently asked,  _ okay, who’s going to start. _

Apparently him, because he took  _ yet another _ swig before slamming his hand palm-down on the counter. “Right, so. We told you that United Ford Apothecaries asked to meet with us, correct? Specifically us. Well. Specifically,  _ me. _ ”

Grillby nodded. It’d been a bit of an under-the-table matter, considering Gaster’s…  _ associations _ with the mob and his unavoidably nonhuman status, but you’d both fairly recently stumbled on a rather  _ interesting _ medicinal use of mandrake and had subsequently wanted to sell it off to fund your, quite frankly, exorbitant research into an elixir of immortality. This had been the first real luck you’d had in awhile and, honestly, the way Gaster had bordered on excited was heartbreaking to think of now.

Asgore did what he could to fund your passions - he was interested in the water of life too, after all! - but this was not a field where you derived results  _ quickly.  _ You didn’t blame him for having different places to allocate his resources and putting the burden of finding investors on you… but humans had taken away your gold and disparaged the honor of your craft. Yours was the  _ old way, _ they said, and theirs was the new. Magic was a weak power, they said - and ought to be swept aside for bigger things.

You could see it getting to Gaster, a man whose ambitions were so unconquerable that you thought he’d cast everything else aside, and it worried you sometimes in the depths of the night.

Or right now, as you stared into the depths of your glass. God. You just wanted to  _ forget _ your troubles. Why did they keep coming back to haunt you…?

“So, we get there, we’re brought to a meeting room, lots of sharp suits and big names - and do you want to know what they  _ fucking did?” _

Grillby picked up his glass, watching Gaster as he idly cleaned it with a fresh rag. The answer was obvious.

“First words out of hells-be-rotten  _ Stanely’s mouth _ were about how he’d have a maid show  _ my ‘servant’ to the waiting room.” _

(Grillby paused in his cleaning, gaze flicking to you. You drank stoically, as always.)

“I, of course, was fucking incensed, they are not my  _ servant, _ they are my  _ assistant, _ and they worked  _ just as hard as I did _ on the project - I don’t understand how you acted so cooly,” he broke off, looking at you.

“It didn’t matter, sir. The next bit was worse.”

“Fuck, don’t remind me. Alright, Grillby, listen to this pile of  _ piss-covered bullshit. _ ”

Basically, it boiled down to a simple concept - speciesism.

Those men hadn’t gone into that room to deal with Gaster; they’d gone in with the intent to bully and pressure a monster into giving away secrets for a value less than dirt. Recognition, they offered him, the start of a brand name - they’d dressed up their words in false compliments, all with an undercurrent that said,  _ monsters are worthless without humans. On your own, you will be nothing. _

_ “We all know how difficult the business is, you know? You can’t deal with it because you’re a monster, so we’ll be kind and support you. Consider what you’re giving us payment for that.” _

...That was the sentiment behind it all. 

It was unpleasant. It was rotten. Having those people smile kindly at him while they talked to him like he was a child - it disgusted him, and it was a good thing that you’d been sent out of that room. If you hadn’t been sent out of that room, you were certain you would have lost your composure completely.

Gaster talked at length, ranting, raving, and gesticulating wildly, and Grillby did his duty in getting you the pair of you suitably intoxicated. He nodded at the appropriate points, made sympathetic noises, and you knew he was containing his own amusement at Gaster’s expressively ill mood. You could appreciate the humor in it yourself, and you finally started to relax at it - seeing your boss verbally tear someone to pieces felt… normal.

Like you’d just go on as usual, and you wouldn’t have to think about things like that anymore.

It couldn’t last forever though; Gaster had been talking all day, so his ability to shout was dulled, and Grillby had other customers to serve. He mostly left you well enough alone after Gaster was finished - though he’d come to visit when he had the time, and refill your drinks when necessary.

...It was necessary quite often, and you stared at your hands, trying not to think.

“I have to ask,” Gaster slurred a bit, breaking the silence as he peered at you from the other stool. “You don’t really have a tradish...traditional digestive system. Why can you, y’know.”

Vague waving at your face.  _ “Get drunk?” _

You switched your stoic stare to him. “Do you think a French alchemist would make a homunculus who couldn’t drink?”

After a sharp, biting chuckle, Gaster said, “Fair. Fulcanelli! What a preposterous man.”

There was a silence between the two of you. Music had started up on the stage; some singer or another that you’d honestly tuned out. The rest of the crowd seemed to be having a good time, but your mood had been unfortunately dulled by the events of the day… and a feeling of dissatisfaction that continued to plague you.

There was still that other thing, wasn’t there? That thing you hadn’t said, that thing that was on the tip of your tongue. Saying it would be purely self-indulgent - it wasn’t like Grillby was here to listen, and Gaster had already gotten himself riled up enough already.

You knew that. You knew you should just stay quiet.  And yet - somehow, you found it slipping out - that  _ thing _ you couldn’t help but dwell on. “They asked me if I fucked you.”

Gaster paused, going frigid as he stared into his glass. Then - quietly, carefully, he peered at you and said, “...Excuse me?”

Well, c’est la vie. You’d already opened your big mouth, so you might as well elaborate. “They asked me if that was why I…  _ stooped  _ to working with you. The servants. They asked if I had a fetish.”

He stood suddenly, the stool clattering backwards as he slammed his hands down on the counter. “I’ll  _ flay them,” _ he snarled, and honestly, you weren’t really surprised. Blasted fool, why had you said anything? He hadn’t needed to know that even the servants were against him. “Mark it! I’ll roast them  _ alive.” _

“It was extremely difficult to contain myself,” you said with a sigh, once again replaying the scene over again. The lot of them, tittering about him - you’d wanted to rip their throats out. Lich? Half a man? Thought he could be human because he had the bones of one - and your only draw to him was that you wanted to do something with those bones?  _ How dare they. _

“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you killed them all,” he growled, his knuckles tightening into fists against the counter. “You’ve the right to preserve your honor.”

A pause. You weren’t sure that you’d heard him correctly.  “...Preserve my honor? I’d wanted to preserve  _ yours, _ for implying that the only reason I’d want to serve you is for something so… crass.”

His expression turned quizzical. “What? I mean - yes, I’ll burn them for the slight, but it was  _ you _ who was made a fool of tonight. Forbidding you to be a part of the proceedings, and then - even  _ worse - _ allowing you to be spat on by scum that, quite honestly, don’t deserve to lick your boots?”

A dissatisfied puff of air escaped from his curled mouth. “I’m  _ furious. _ You should have been at my side.”

You didn’t quite know how to deal with this, so you decided to do what you usually did - over clarify until you were  _ certain _ you understood. “Are you… implying that you are… so  _ very _ upset… because I was mistreated?”

He stared at you flatly, the same sort of look he got on his face when he was addressing the idiot paperboy or one of the young pups who you’d roped into helping for the day. “Yes? Isn’t that why  _ you’re _ upset? Everything else was just icing on the cake.”

This was a strange moment. No - this entire conversation had a strange feeling to it. You’d seen him drunk, certainly - but you’d never heard him…  _ praise _ you quite like this before. You knew you had a certain understanding, a certain knowledge that everyone else was an idiot so you typically pursued each other’s company even outside of work, but…

...That he thought so highly of you, to become so upset by your mistreatment?

It was… odd, and you didn’t share his views on the matter. “No. Truthfully, I don’t care - their accusations made no difference and held no weight, nor did being sent from the room. I’m upset because  _ your _ time was wasted, and…”

Your mouth tightened. “You were excited, sir. Thought things might finally be going well. I hate them for ruining that, time and time again.”

That quieted him some, but it was a strange sort of silence, an odd pause with a thoughtful edge to it. He leaned down, picking up his stool again, and set it back down somewhat inelegantly. “You should guard your pride more jealously. You can’t just let any common kitchen maid say such ill things about you and your habits.”

“As I said, it doesn’t matter.” Your words came out bland, dispassionate - and you linked your hands together, resting your chin on them. You felt all fuzzy and tingly all over, and your tongue was _ notably  _ more loose. “If you think about it, the entire accusation was comical. It’s not like I have the parts to do anything.”

Gaster choked a bit on his drink, and you looked over at him in concern, wondering if it had just gone down a bit wrong. “You’re well?”

“I’m well,” he rasped, coughing a bit and setting his glass down. “Returning to a prior musings, however, I find it odd that a Frenchman wouldn’t make you… well.”

He squinted at you. _ “You know. _ Fully functional? _ ” _

You stared at him flatly. “I want you to consider the implications of what you suggested and be  _ glad _ he didn’t think that an important role for me to fill.”

Gaster shuddered in instinctual revulsion.  _ “Granted.  _ The fact that he sold you was cause enough for disgust.”   
  
You took another drink, hoping to drown that particular fact out. “You’re the one who bought me.”

“And I’ve apologized for treating you like a thing who could be bought. You’re my assistant, and a damn fine one at that. I’ve not worked with anyone nearly as clever as you.” God, there it was again. Why was he praising you so  _ highly  _ tonight? It made your face feel… oddly hot, a flush to your neck and your ears that you attributed to your drunkenness.

It was one of your few human traits, to feel  _ warm. _ “You’re... kind to say so, sir.”

“Oh, don’t simper,” he snapped, and then paused in a squinty sort of thought. “No, that’s not the word I want. What is it, what is it… Humble? No. Harsher - ah! Obsequious, that is - ” He drummed his fingertips against the table. “ _ Exactly _ the word. Obsequious. You’re being disgustingly obsequious.”

You quirked a brow at the drunken ramble. “I’d like to emphasize the irony of  _ you _ telling me that. Again. You purchased me.”

He reached out and tugged on your ear, as he sometimes did when you were harassing him and he was fed up. “Lay off, you. Fulcanelli made it sound like you couldn’t  _ feel.” _

You became a bit more muted at that, and you contemplated your cuticles and the slope of your fingers. Gaster seemed to note your silence, because after another pause, he changed the topic.

“I… have a somewhat crass question for you.”

He sounded serious, and you roused yourself from your own mental wanderings to attend to it. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but - yes?”

“...Do you wish you could?”

A pause.

“What?” you asked, and Gaster pressed on with an astounding clinicality. 

“Intercourse. Do you ever find yourself wanting to engage in it?”

You kept your eyes on him as you took another drink, and you saw him wilt a fraction before he repaired his confidence and maintained his even gaze. He wasn’t going to let up until you replied, and you mulled over it a bit before finally deciding to stall more. “That’s… a very private question.”

“Yes? And do you intend to keep the answer private?” Goodness, how he’d gotten  _ bold. _

“What’s brought this on?”

“Curiousity. And concern, I suppose.” He finished off his drink, and it was then you finally noticed that Grillby was on the totally opposite end of the bar now. Huh. “I’ve not the stomach for romance, but you can pursue it, you know. If it’s your interest, I wouldn’t stand in the way of your happiness.”

“My… happiness?” You said slowly, watching him trail a finger around the edge of the glass. What on  _ earth _ was he getting at, here? “You think that sort of thing will make me happy?”

He shrugged vaguely, then looked back over the bar floor, and - oh. Perhaps  _ that _ was why he’d brought all this up? As the night had grown later, so to had various members of the family grown more… comfortable with each other, the various couples of your acquaintance dancing, drinking together and - in one case - sticking their tongues in each other’s mouths in a shadowy corner.

Such was the life of debauchery. Did he think you felt like you were missing out because of your work…?

“I… assure you, sir,” you began slowly, cupping your glass between both hands. “I’ve… not thought overly long about those matters. If we’re speaking of sex, then I’ve no ability, and if we’re speaking of romance, well…”

You filled the pause with a drink. “I can’t rightfully engage in that sort of thing without being  _ capable,  _ can I? No one would want me.”

For a moment, he looked taken aback - and, perhaps, just a little offended on your behalf. “I - I  _ assure _ you that isn’t true.”

“On what grounds?” You eyed him with a combination of puzzlement and baffled interest. It was the same sort of fascination you’d have with a car crash. “I’m given to understand that courtship is a dance that eventually culminates in consummation. It’s expected.”

“There’s - and I’m not speaking from a position of experience, mind, we’ve already established my thoughts on the establishment being completely rotten - but… you’ve a great many attractive qualities.”

“...Like?”

“A keen wit, an analytical mind, fair features, an ability to shut up and get things done - ” he began ticking things off on his fingers before cutting himself off. “Well. From what I understand of romance, it’s not all a physical matter, and I’m certain there exists some fool or another that wouldn’t care about the carnality of it and would, instead, be delighted by you.”

You were, admittedly, still a bit stuck on his prior assessments. What was  _ up  _ with him? “Sir, you’re acting  _ very _ strangely tonight. Is something the matter?”

His expression shifted into a glower, and you found its return both a comfort and an odd disappointment. “I don’t see why you’re asking. There’s nothing odd in being curious about a companion, is there?”

“No, but the topic is  _ bizarre.  _ You hate romance. Why would you be interested in my romantic life?”

Gaster made to drink, and found that, whoops, he’d emptied it long ago. He stared at it for a moment in extreme dissatisfaction, though to you, it seemed like he’d already had more than enough. There was something a bit strange about his look, now - a frustration, perhaps. Discontentment. “I’d thought… it might…”

He shook his head suddenly after trailing off. “Nevermind.”

Now that got you curious, and you leaned in. Obviously, something was bothering him. “Sir?”

Silence, and you put your hand on his arm and repeated the word. It took him a moment, but he looked over at you, and it was such a profoundly private moment that it made you feel… strange in your chest. He looked down at you, face quite close to yours and dusted with a light lavender, and he murmured something that only you could hear.

“If you hadn’t been with me, I’m certain you would have been taken more seriously. Are there things you’d rather be doing, assistant? Experiencing? Am I - because I am a monster…”

His fingers tightened on the stem of his glass, and you were, for a moment, worried it might shatter. “...holding you back?”

Your reply was immediate. Even without the alcohol, you wouldn’t have had to think about it at all. “Of course not, sir. Setting aside practical concerns, like my aforementioned inability to connect with humans, I care about our work, and I find you infinitely more tolerable than most everyone else.  _ There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” _

He stared at you, and you at him, and it occurred to you that you both were  _ very _ close indeed. In fact, it sort of felt like you were tipping forward, and -

Oh.

You were.

Apparently, you’d vastly overestimated your balance, because - as you’d leaned closer to him - you’d become too unstable to maintain your seat. Rather, you slid off your stool, and Gaster reached out instinctively to catch you.

Given that the both of you were drunk idiots, it ended up being that Gaster - in his attempts to prevent your fall - ended up on the floor himself, his legs trapped beneath yours and your head against his shoulder.

Strangely enough, the man beneath you was warm, which seemed profoundly odd to you, considering you’d seen him shirtless and knew he was nothing but bones. You’d touched him before, even, and hadn’t found his temperature to be anything particularly special, so… what was this? Why could you feel heat emanating from him, particularly from the center of his chest?

It was bizarre, and it distracted you from the main truth - that you were basically in his lap, and he had frozen up completely.

Investigating seemed like an obvious course of action to you, as drunk and curious as you were, and - for Gaster’s part in it - it was an obvious course of action that, when you spread your hand against the center of his chest, he shoved you away with a violent thrash.

As if the pair of you falling from your stools wasn’t commotion enough, his efforts to evict you from his personal space made quite a lot of noise, so it wasn’t surprising that Grillby came over to investigate. As Gaster jammed his palm into your face, tilting your head to the side, you saw him looking over the counter at you, eyes wide and fire curling in perplexion.

“Ah,” you said casually, meeting Grillby’s gaze. “My employer is drunk, and seems to have dragged me on top of him.”

Your sentence was interrupted midway through by a sharp knee to your stomach, but you continued like nothing had happened and, at the end, Gaster fervently declared, “It seems that my  _ employee _ is drunk, considering how they can’t even lean over without falling!”

It was a bit less intelligible than all that, but Grillby got the gist of it and chuckled in that crackling way of his.

“My employer fails to recognize that I, as an artificial being, metabolize alcohol differently. I am fine, despite my current uncoordinated state.” Kind of true, but only kind of.

“In turn, my employee fails to recognize that is a  _ bullshit argument, _ and they are, in fact, still drunk.”

“I must suggest that my employer is using the argumentative logic of a child.”

“I must say to my employee - your  _ face _ uses the argumentative logic of a child.”

“To my gracious employer, I return - it does. These words are indeed coming out of my mouth. Which is on my face. So therefore, I acknowledge he is correct.”

“Well, isn’t  _ that _ a lark. You acknowledge my superiority in something, assistant?” 

“I didn’t say  _ superiority. _ If it’s a competition, I would win out of habit.” He’d stopped fighting you now, and you leaned against him, enjoying the warmth pouring out from him. He picked at your hair, scowling over your shoulder, though it seemed like he’d accepted that he wasn’t going to dislodge you without your own consent.

He still whined about it, however. “Look, seriously. Get off me. You’re heavy and I want to get up.”

“Nope,” you answered imperially, and Gaster shoved at your shoulder.

“Why  _ not?” _

Your voice came out softer than you’d intended, curling around him like a wisp of smoke, but you were tired, and your eyes had already drifted closed. “Because this is comfortable.”

He choked, and then - in an attempt to regain his composer - looked up at Grillby with a profoundly sulky look. “See this horrible employee of mine? So frightfully lazy.”

“Ah,” you added, not one to be beaten in this sort of affair. “See this horrible employer of mine? He won’t even let his delightful employee have a break.”

“A break? This goes far beyond having  _ a break! _ Seriously, get off, you lout!”   


“I think,” said a quiet voice from above, one that smoldered and burned like a hearth. “That two patrons of mine have had enough to drink, and should, perhaps, see about getting themselves home.”

“Are you kicking us out?” Gaster asked, his voice pricklier than an irritable hedgehog. You tucked your face against his neck, enjoying the way it vibrated as he spoke. Gosh. If you’d been missing anything in your life, it was  _ this, _ not any of the nonsense Gaster had been harping about before. Could you market this feeling somehow? Bottle this fluttering tingle, and sell it to the masses?

You’d have enough money to do your research for  _ years. _

Grillby shook his head, a faint  _ fwoosh _ noise accompanying the motion. “It’s a suggestion, not an order, though if you don’t heed it… I foresee you having to carry your ‘dear assistant’ out.”

Gaster heaved a great sigh, the sound rumbling near your ear as his arms slid around you. “I concede to your argument. Well then, my incorrigible employee - shall we go home, where you can sleep on the couch like a normal creature of the night?”

“I accept, miserable employer of mine.”

He began to stand, carrying you up with him like a huge sack of rice or a cumbersome bag of potatoes. You, for your part, did nothing to assist in this process, just leaning against him and savoring the combined sensations of touch and smell. Did you mention he smelled nice? Like spices, plants, and other things you used in the lab. You’d really never noticed at before.

Perhaps if you played dead, he really would carry you all the way home…?

You yawned like a cat and breathed out against his neck. He shivered right afterwards - was he cold, maybe? Ah - was he sick, perhaps? That would explain his odd behavior during the night. “I want to drink more when we’re at home, though.”

“I believe they call this sort of situation  _ having your cake and eating it too.” _

“I hate cake,” you replied plainly, and Gaster grumbled as he shifted your arm so it was around his shoulder.

“You’re far too literal.”

Grillby picked up his glass again, watching the two of you depart the little speakeasy you all hid away in as the shadows grew longer and the nights grew deep. Gaster looked over at you, a frustrated expression crossing his face as he murmured something harsh, and you carried on with that natural stoicism of yours, fighting him in return by making yourself particularly difficult to escort.

Very softly, he crackled, and he couldn't help but wonder how long that man would go on without truly getting to the heart of the matter.


	11. The World is Wide Enough (Reader & Co)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpected circumstances lead to you taking on a new job. You deal with it... well enough?
> 
> (Continuation of Chapter 5 - The Pen is Mightier Than the Sword, or Whatever the Modern Equivalent is I Guess)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Commissioned by @error-tooradforgenosans. Thank you so much! Sorry both for my absence lately (school has been hell) and any strange notifications anyone might have gotten. Ao3 was not letting me submit the full chapter for some bizarre reason!

The phone buzzed in your hand, and you flicked your finger across the screen, bringing up the message and peering at it for a moment. It was, as usual, Dr. Tokage, who you still mentally referred to by her screen-name even though she’d long since revealed that, in real life, everyone called her _Alphys._

It was an endearing handle. Tokage. It fit her cute little lizard smile really well.

>> DrTokage: omg, Mettaton just got off the phone with his producer, concerts for the group are sold out five months in advance.

>> DrTokage: Five months!

>> DrTokage: That’s cool, right?

You smiled to yourself, rubbing at your face before typing out a reply.

JusticeJess:╰(✧∇x`✧)╯That’s amazing!!! How much is Mettaton preening rn

You glanced up away from the screen, taking a quick peek at the receptionist’s desk of the lobby you were currently waiting in. It was quiet in here, with only snatches of murmured conversations flickering under the fluorescent light, and – given nothing else to look at – you stared absently at the last message you’d sent. A minute passed. Two. Then, with another buzz, a picture pushed up from the bottom of the screen and into your vision.

Another smile. The robotic superstar was sparkling – _literally_ sparkling – with his bendy, tube-like arm wrapped multiple times around Alphys as he hugged her. Given the staggering perfection of the angle – and the way his other arm was cropped – you could only figure that he’d used his amazing extendo-limbs to take the picture.

Figures that Mettaton would be physically more capable of taking on-point selfies.

JusticeJess: Looking good! The rest of the band doing alright?

“Mister Blake?” came a voice from near counter, and you sat up straight, attention firmly on the woman’s medical scrubs and sharp, pristine bun. “Follow me, please.”

It would be accurate to call your disengagement from the chair a _leap,_ given the spring-like nature of the motion. You approached the counter swiftly, your long strides taking you just about a foot from her. In the warbley, metallic sheen of the door, you could see the vague smattered shapes of your reflection. Blues and reds, mostly – you were wearing your Captain America T-Shirt, along with your slightly worn jeans and your Miyazaki print sneakers. If the nurse had an opinion on your attire, she didn’t say so, simply nodding at you and turning on her heel.

“How is she?” you asked, anxiously shifting the phone from palm-to-palm. Half of you was desperate for the answer, and the other half of you wanted to put it off for as long as possible.

“The surgery was a success, and she’s been recovering well since then. We’ll need to monitor her for a few more days before we can release her. After that…” the nurse smiled at you, an expression that you didn’t really trust given the circumstances. “She can go home. Though she’ll need to come back for a few more appointments. It shouldn’t be necessary, but there’s a chance she might need physical therapy to fully recover.”

Those words could be set to the tune of a funeral dirge; it didn’t matter that the nurse was smiling as she said them. _Might need physical therapy._

You swallowed the tears that threatened to shimmer in your eyes, though you must not have done an entirely good job of it, because the nurse’s next words were ones of comfort.

“It’s very unlikely that’ll happen; we simply want you to be informed in case it’s necessary. It’s simply a part of the healing process. Don’t worry. It’s not scary.”

 _It’s not scary._ You wanted to laugh.

Everything about this place was scary. _God._ Why did you have to come back here? You hated hospitals!

Ever since you were a kid, there was nothing you hated more than the hospital.

The nurse showed you to the room, and even though she entered after you, her presence entirely faded away as you saw that sterile, white hospital room and the tired looking face of your friend staring straight up at you.

“Jess!”

You practically bolted to her bedside, only summoning up enough self-control to keep yourself from all-out sprinting. Her hair fell across her face as she looked up at you, and the exhaustion in her features destroyed something inside of your soul. It just felt _wrong,_ this intrinsic sense of unease born from how disconnected the scene was from your normal reality. Jess was always so _determined._ So _strong._ She treated everything with a fierce, piercing intensity – particularly the pursuit of justice, which you so strongly admired her for – and seeing her, exhausted on a hospital bed, was…

Surreal.

(It made you think of what she must have looked like, confined in the shell of a broken car, and it made you hate yourself for not being there by her side.)

“Jedi,” she murmured, her smile weak but sincere. “You look awful.”

That’s your Jess for you. You couldn’t help but grin in response, even though it was the last thing you wanted to do. “Says you! Look at you. Look at those sallow cheeks and horrible eyebags. What have they been feeding you?”

You reached out, poking at her skin, and she swatted it away with her good hand. “Applesauce, mostly. Probably better than _you’ve_ been eating, Mr. Won’t-Cook-Anything-But-Ramen.”

She said it like it was a joke, but you had to admit that your entire diet consisted of chicken cup-o-noodles.

“I’ll leave you two be,” said a voice from behind you, and you turned to look at the nurse. “Press the call button if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” the both of you said in tandem, and you turned your grin back down at Jess. “Jinx! Owe me a soda.”

“Oh, yes. Let me just crawl up out of this hospital bed and buy you something from the machine.” She paused for a moment, looking genuinely contemplative. “Actually, do you want one? I’ve got my purse.”

“No!” You waved your hands in front of you, the gesture including her phone since it was still cradled in your fingers. “No, no. I’m good. No need for that. I’m the sidekick, remember? I should be buying _you_ drinks.”

Jess snorted softly, her expression smoothing out into something gentle as she stared up at you. “I’m glad to see you, Jedi.”

“I’m glad to see you too, Jess,” you replied, lowering yourself into a chair by her bedside. “You really gave me a scare, y’know? Jeez. What were you thinking, going off into battle without me?”

You meant it to be a joke, but you felt your throat catching after you said it.   _You should have been there,_ you thought. _You should have been beside her._

_Jess shouldn’t have been in that car crash alone._

Almost as if she could read your thoughts – which… maybe she could, you didn’t know, Jess was amazing enough to do that – she turned her gaze up to the ceiling and spoke solemnly. “I’m glad you weren’t. I don’t think I could have dealt with that. If you’d gotten hurt because of me…”

The conversation tapered off into a solemn silence, and you passed the phone in-between your hands, not sure what to say.  You noticed the light by the camera blinking, indicating that you had some notification to attend to, but you ignored it. What could you say? That you didn’t want her to be alone? That you’d follow her, even into that kind of suffering?

But she denied that, finding the words she wanted to say. “I don’t think I could have forgiven myself, Jedi.”

You continued to avoid speaking. Maybe you could have prevented it. Maybe if you’d been there, she wouldn’t have gotten hurt so bad.

Maybe she wouldn’t have her arm in a cast right now, broken so badly that she’d needed surgery to fix it.

Perhaps realizing the impasse in the conversation, or perhaps simply naturally wanting a topic change, Jess searched for something else to talk about. Her eyes fell on her phone, and her expression curved up in a soft, amused smile. “Has everything been alright online?”

“Oh, yeah.” You put your grin on once more. Though you couldn’t change the past, you could make Jess feel better right now by being happy. “I was just talking to Alphys. Here, I’ll read it to you!”

Jess liked it when you did the voices, so you pitched your tone high and low as appropriate as you scrolled up through the message history. You also caught her up with the latest entries in the continual joke war between you and TimeForPunishment, along with the antics of CoolSkeleton95 who had, apparently, started going to the gym.

He’d sent you a picture of his new ‘abs’ which… were… well.

Inflatable.

“Out of curiosity…” she murmured, cutting into your dramatic reading of Papyrus’ adventures in musculature. “Have you told any of them, yet?”

You flicked your gaze up to her. “Told them what?”

“That you’re not me.” She gave you a steady look, searching, and you cleared your throat, trying to ignore the cold chill starting to crawl across your skin.

“…No, I, uh. I haven’t mentioned the accident, or… that. Is it… does it bother you…?”

(You prayed.)

“No, I wouldn’t say that. ‘ _JusticeJess,_ ’” she said, doing the air quotes with her left hand only, “Is kind of, well. Both of us. But… you can, you know? Tell them.”

You played dumb, not entirely wanting to have this conversation but also not sure how to wriggle out of it. “Can what, tell them about what happened? I thought it’d be best if it came from you… I could dictate it if you want – “

“No.” She shook her head on the pillow, seeming… tired. Concerned. “I meant, you can explain that you’re… you. And talk to them like you’re you.”

A pause.

“I wouldn’t want to make them feel weird…” you trailed off, searching for excuses. “Everyone thinks they’re just talking to you. If I let them know that I’d been, well, _peeping_ in on all those conversations, don’t you think…?”

Jess waved her hand vaguely, snorting in something like discontent. “They know I basically tell you everything and that you help me with the blog; I don’t think it’s a _big stretch of the imagination_ to think that you see the chats too. Besides, the few times when someone has said to me, _hey, can you keep a secret?_ Both of us have respected that. You’ve never read the private stuff, and I know you never would.”

You fidgeted with the phone, and she looked away from you, turning her gaze to the window and the empty sill. “I know you think of yourself as a _sidekick,_ Jedi, but Robin is no less important than Batman, right? I don’t understand why you think that people don’t want to get to know you, too.”

Your laugh felt dry and cracked as it came out of your mouth. “Oh, c’mon! Are you suggesting I go all _Nightwing_ on you?”

“No.” Jess looked back at you, and though she was smiling, nothing about the situation felt like a joke. “I just want you to stop treating yourself like you’re Scrappy Doo.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that, so you laughed and changed the topic with your normal grace. Jess was supposed to be recovering. You didn’t want to burden her with your dumb problems.

\--

If there was one thing you were good at doing, it was ignoring Jess’ helpful advice.

It wasn’t that you didn’t respect her opinions. You did. She had made an actual _profession_ out of helping others with their problems. It was more that… as much as you wanted to, you couldn’t bring yourself to apply anything that she said to yourself. It wasn’t like you’d opened yourself to her aid, after all. It wasn’t like you were one of the quizzical, earnest monsters who filled her inbox up with questions every day.

You were a coward who just wanted to exist behind her without examination or contemplation. You were shy, and rather than try to instill any actual confidence in yourself, you just plastered over your flaws with false geniality and the roles that you’d absorbed since you were a child.

You were a sidekick, whereas Jess was wonderful and brave, and you could only try to imitate her with the anonymity of the screen to protect you.

>> CoolSkeleton95: JESS, I URGENTLY NEED NUTRITIONAL ADVICE. IT HAS COME TO MY ATTENTION THAT SPAGEHTTI, BEING A NOODLE-BASED FOODSTUFF, IS A CARBOHYDRATE. BUT APPARENTLY, CARBOHYDRATES MAKE YOU FAT?

>> CoolSkeleton95: I DO NOT UNDERSTAND. SPAGHETTI IS THE SUPERFOOD. HOW IS IT NOT THE MIRACLE SUBSTANCE THAT SOLVES ALL THE WORLD’S TROUBLES?

>> CoolSkeleton95: PLEASE HELP. MY MUSCLES DESPERATELY NEED YOUR SAGE GUIDANCE!

Drawn from your self-abasement by the buzzing in your hand, you flicked the screen to life with your thumb and couldn’t help but smile at Papyrus _CoolSkeleton95’s_ predicament. Thank god for that stupid nutrition class you’d taken in high school.

>> JusticeJess: Okay, so, it all depends on what you’re trying to accomplish. Low-carb diets can be effective for things like weight loss, because they help you burn fat. But eating carbohydrates before workouts is good because they’re what your body needs to keep you energetic.

>> JusticeJess: That’s the super simplified, basic answer. I can give you a few articles, if you want.

>> CoolSkeleton95: THAT WOULD BE SPLENDID! THANK YOU SO MUCH. THOUGH, I DO HAVE ANOTHER QUESTION.

>> JusticeJess: Yeah?

>> CoolSkeleton95: ARE YOU FEELING ARIGHT?

Your thumbs froze on the screen, and your breath caught in your throat. Shit. _Shit._ What was it, had you not been using enough emojis? What was it, had you not gotten the proper balance between professional and friendly down, and had come across as too distant? What was it, what had you done?

_You knew how to mimic her perfectly! So what had you done…?_

>> CoolSkeleton95: NOT TO SUGGEST THAT THERE’S ANYTHING WRONG WITH YOU! YOU JUST… HAVEN’T SEEMED QUITE AS HAPPY LATELY. AND YOU PUSHED THE RELEASE DATE ON YOUR VIDEO BACK, AND YOU HAVEN’T POSTED ANY SELFIES, EITHER!

>> CoolSkeleton95: …NOR SENT ANY PICTURES OF JEDI! IS EVERYTHING OKAY WITH HIM?

>> CoolSkeleton95: HE HASN’T GOTTEN SICK, HAS HE? YOU SAID THAT, FOR A HUMAN, HE GETS ILL VERY EASILY!

The messages kept pouring in at an energetic clip, and you felt your skin chill over with a strange sort of numbness. How could you deal with this? How could you keep up the façade?

(Papyrus was worried about _you?)_

>> JusticeJess: Oh, no no no! Everything’s fine; don’t worry! Though you’re right; he does have a bit of a cold.

 

>> JusticeJess: He’s so gross and snotty that he can’t do the editing for my video, and he says he doesn’t ‘want people seeing him looking like a goblin’ or whatever.

>> JusticeJess: I think he might have worked himself sick, tbh. He has a lot of clients other than me, and he’s kind of dumb and bad about taking breaks, so…

(Was that convincing? Was that final line too much? _Oh god.)_

>> CoolSkeleton95: WHAT!!! THAT’S AWFUL! I DIDN’T KNOW HE WAS SO BUSY.

>> CoolSkeleton95: IS THAT WHY HE DOESN’T TALK ON THE BLOG MUCH?

 _Terror alert. Terror alert._ How had you gotten into this ridiculous situation? Why was Pap- CoolSkeleton95 asking all these questions?

_Was he trying to imply he wanted to talk to you? Why would anyone want that?_

How did Jess even talk about you…?

The birds chirped around you, and you heard a pair of children screaming in delight from a nearby playground. The sunshine was warm, streaming through the gaps in the tree hanging over the park bench you sat on, and the circumstances felt totally wrong for this kind of conversation. Slouching, you rubbed your hand over your temple and thought about the circumstances that had lead you to this situation.

Just a little while more. Soon, Jess would be back in the driver’s seat, and you would have to stop pretending that you skimped out of getting your own license.

>> JusticeJess: Eh, kinda! Honestly, he’s just kind of a dweeb. Saying stuff about how _the sidekick shouldn’t steal the stoplight,_ or whatever. He likes hearing from everybody, though!

>> CoolSkeleton95: OH, I SEE! WELL… IF YOU COULD, SOMETIME, PLEASE TELL HIM…

>> CoolSkeleton95: THAT WE ALL THINK HE HAS VERY GOOD TASTE IN T-SHIRTS!

>> CoolSkeleton95: AND THAT I HOPE HE FEELS BETTER SOON!

A strangled, garbled noise came out of your throat, torn half between a snorting laugh and a gurgle of panic. Oh god, they talked about you? Oh god, they _noticed your presence?_ (That wasn’t like, a subtle dig at you, right? You _knew_ you were a nerd and you _knew_ it was kind of unprofessional but you’d never been good at being all nice and presentable like that.)

>> JusticeJess: Hah! I’ll let him know.

And with that, you set your phone beside you and put your head in your hands. You’d thought this was going to be easier.

It would have been easier, if everyone had just stuck to their scripts… and stopped concerning themselves with a backstage handyman like you.

 

* * *

 

You ignored your messages for the rest of the day, letting the phone idly buzz as you mashed your face into your pillow. Part of you thought about calling Jess, since talking to her always made you feel better, but the other part of you didn’t want to bother her while she was trying to recover. She worried enough about you already; you didn’t need to add to her already massive wellspring of concerns.

A third part of you thought about shutting the phone off, but that felt too much like ignoring your responsibilities. Jess had entrusted you with maintaining the blog while she withered away in the hospital. You should do your job.

You should do your job.

After repeating this sentence to yourself a few times, you turned your head, picked up Jess’s phone, and started going through the backlog.

Most of them were easy. Minor questions, friendly greetings, ClapForSnails wanted to thank you (er, Jess) for recommending Harvest Moon to them… but when you got to the little tab that said _TimeForPunishment,_ you had to pause.

The conversation – no, it couldn’t really be called a conversation, could it? It was too shallow for that; just an exchange of jokes that you’d been maintaining since Jess got hurt. It’d honestly cheered you up a lot; you didn’t even really have to pretend to be someone else. You just had to think of dumb jokes, and if there was anything in life you were good at, it was _thinking of dumb jokes._

But… the message that lay in wait for you was a far different fair than your normal, one-line exchange.

>> TimeForPunishment: hey. i was hoping we could talk about something kinda serious for a sec.

You had to admit, there was literally nothing scarier than the phrase, _hey, can we talk?_ Immediately, you groaned and mashed your face repeatedly into your limited-edition transformer’s throw pillow. _Why did the world personally have it out for you?_ Hell, were you going to have to have a personal conversation where you _pretended to be Jess?_ You supposed that you could just be like, _hey, I’m sooo super sorry, this isn’t a great time right now_ and type everything out for her later, but…

But…

…She’d trusted you to keep the blog running. And –

Fwip.

>> TimeForPunishment: i guess i shouldn’t say ‘we’. it’s more like i want to talk to you, Jedediah.

For some weird reason, it took you a good ten seconds to really process your name. After that, it took you ten more seconds of blank numbness to process what it meant, and then your mind just phased out into mindless fear.

_What._

>> TimeForPunishment: uh, it’s not about anything bad, i promise. so don’t freak out.

>> TimeForPunishment: or stop freaking out if you’re doing that right now. seriously, you don’t need to.

>> TimeForPunishment: i just want you to talk like _you,_ and… uh. get rid of all of the bullshit pretense.

>> TimeForPunishment: if you really don’t want to, i guess it’s fine. just forget i said anything.

>> TimeForPunishment: but i’d appreciate it if we could, just for a little bit.

The messages stopped coming in after that, and you stared at the screen, your fingers forming and erasing replies like you were anxiously kneading clay between your hands. Eventually, you settled on denial. It was the shape you knew how to make the easiest.

>> JusticeJess: What are you talking about?

A breath. Two. The message came in quickly, almost like he’d kept his phone by him in anticipation. You didn’t want to think about what that meant.

>> TimeForPunishment: look, i’m familiar enough with garbage to smell when something’s not right.

>> JusticeJess: But you don’t have a nose? ^^;

>> TimeForPunishment: and that, pal, is the classic misdirect. look.

>> TimeForPunishment: i’ll admit, it’s pretty hard to get a sense of what parts of “JusticeJess” are _you_ and what parts are _her,_ but there are two dead giveaways

>> TimeForPunishment: one, how you talk about each other. yeah, Jess ribs on you a bit, but if you were actually sick, you bet your ass she’d sound a lot more worried.

>> (yeah, you aren’t the only person who reads other people’s phone conversations.)

Your response was immediate, and you regretted it literally as soon as you hit _send._

>> JusticeJess: I always have her permission!!!

Shit.

_Shit._

Oh, how the hell were you going to salvage this?

>> TimeForPunishment: didn’t say you didn’t, though i’m glad to hear that

>> TimeForPunishment: number two is your style of humor. my stage name is mister funnybones for a reason, my pal. i bleed humor and ketchup, and i can always tell whose jokes are whose.

>> TimeForPunishment: you always go for the nerdy stuff and the obscure mythological humor. she’s more the… association-based punning type. the root of the problem in your budding relationship, etcetera.

>> TimeForPunishment: there’s no fooling me. it’s definitely been all you for a few days straight.

There was no salvaging this. Time to face the music.

>> JusticeJess: okay. Why are you bringing this up now

>> TimeForPunishment: uhh. concern, i guess. hey, could I call you?

>> TimeForPunishment: if that doesn’t freak you out too much.

>> JusticeJess: ???? You want me to give you Jess’ phone number?

>> TimeForPunishment: i was talking about _your_ phone, pal.

>> TimeForPunishment: i thought it’d be a little less weird than… this.

>> TimeForPunishment: (also, speakerphone is great and im too lazy to type everything out)

You let out a sharp laugh of disbelief. This was surreal. Oh god, you must be having some kind of weird, ramen-induced nightmare. Your sister was right. All that sodium was causing you to hallucinate.

>> JusticeJess: Why do I feel like you’re not going to take no for an answer?

>> TimeForPunishment: idk. i would. this isn’t an interrogation.

>> TimeForPunishment: …i kinda thought we were friends, i guess. or that you at least thought of me as one. friends call each other, right?

>> TimeForPunishment: i gotta say, it’s been a while since i read my manual of friendship, but i remember seeing that in there somewhere.

You rolled on your back, spreading your arms out over your bedspread. Friends. He thought you were friends? He called you a… friend?

 _What would a superhero do?_ Was a question that you never asked yourself; but right now, you couldn’t help but muse over it right now.

Well.

It couldn’t really be helped, could it?

Heaving a sigh, you texted back a simple string of numbers and waited for your fate.

It came in the form of a jumpy beat from your favorite cartoon about time travelling samurai, and you let it ring for a few phrases before picking up the phone. Holding the speaker close to your ear, you listened, your mouth suddenly going dry. You could talk to people in person. It wasn’t like you had a huge circle of friends or anything, but you could get by in day-to-day conversations and manage to be passably friendly. Sure, you were only really comfortable around Jess, but…

Even that hesitance was far different from this.

“jeds, you better not have given me a prank number, or - …actually, y’know, it’d be pretty funny if you did.”

You can’t help but snort and wish you _had_ forwarded TimeForPunishment to the John Cena hotline.

It occurred to you that this was this first time you’d ever… _heard_ the guy you’d been exchanging texts with while pretending to be your best friend, and yet somehow, it didn’t really register as anything unusual. He sounded just like you expected him to. “…I didn’t.”

Another one of those pauses. You listened for Sans’ breathing, suddenly wondering – do skeletons even breathe?

Wait, was it even okay for you to call him Sans? He’d called you a nickname, so –

“boy, you sure are a conversationalist, aren’t ya.”

“Hey!” You scowled, turning on your side and curling up so your legs touched your chest. You could feel your long hair spilling across the pillow, and you knew it could use a good brushing after all the flopping and rolling about you’d been doing. “You’re the person who suddenly wanted to call me out of the blue! Excuse me if I don’t really know what to say.”

There was silence, and you wondered for a moment if the line had gone dead. “Punishment?”

“uh, sorry. hearing your voice is weirder than i thought it’d be.”

Your eyebrow creeped up your forehead. “…Should we go back to text?”

“no. i mean. unless you’re super uncomfortable, but i feel like you waiting for me to type giant paragraphs would be way worse. unless you’re into that, i guess.” A pause.

“Not… particularly. Uh. This is a little strange, but…” You stared at the wall, gnawing on your lip for a moment. “Should we… introduce ourselves? We’ve talked, I guess, but…”

You sighed before repeating, “This is weird.”

“that’s sort of on you pal, but okay. i’m sans, if you didn’t get the memo. you’ve seen my picture. short. kinda fat. great teeth.”

Somehow, that got another laugh out of you, and you uncurled yourself a little. “I’m the elusive and mysterious Jedediah. Congratulations on finally dragging me into social interaction; Jess has been trying for years with no success.”

“man. that’s… pretty sad. you’ve probably heard how much i hate the whole… getting out there gig.”

“Yeah. Papyrus has told me – er. Jess. Of how he has to carry you to parties like you’re a sack of potatoes.”

“once, i drew my face on an actual sack of potatoes and had him cart that along instead. for all intents and purposes, it was basically the same.”

“…So,” you ventured, suddenly realizing how easily you’d gotten mired in the swamp of casual conversation. _Weird._ “…What’s prompting this particular bout of socialization? I have to say, given what I know about you, I wasn’t really…”

“…expecting it? yeah. uh.” You heard a short, dry laugh on the other end of the line. “i was kind of content to not really do anything, but… uh… Pappy kinda…”

A pause. You heard a rustle on the other end. “he got pretty worried when you talked to him last, so i figured i’d step in before he did something drastic.”

“…Do something drastic?”

“yeah.” Wow. It was like a poppy field of awkward pauses.  “okay, Paps was positive that you were in the hospital or something, and was going to try to get everyone together and make a road-trip up to see you both.”

“W-what?” you sputtered, covering your mouth with one hand so the final syllable of the word was muffled. “What? What – what? How would he – how did he intend to – _does he even know where either of us live?_ I don’t think we’ve mentioned…”

“you’ve said the city before, and you’ve got that PO BOX, so he figured that’s the post office you were near…”

“…Haha,” you said, because it couldn’t really be called a laugh. “That’s pretty funny. I mean, Papyrus got part of it right, it’s just…”

Suddenly, you found yourself completely choked up, and even though you tried to silence it by pressing your hand harder on your face, the tears came brimming forth as you completed your thought. “I-It’s just, it’s not me, it’s _Jess._ ”

 _God damn it,_ you swore at yourself, biting down on your knuckle as you tried not to sob. _God damn it,_ this was a mistake. This was a huge, huge mistake. You prayed that he wouldn’t hear. You prayed that he wouldn’t notice. _You prayed,_ and hoped this situation would just go away.

It didn’t. The world continued on, and you heard a faint voice spill out from the phone that had dropped from your hand onto the fleece covers. “…Jedi, buddy? hey. hey, listen to me. Jedi?”

The tears were ugly and rough and it occurred to you that you hadn’t cried once since the accident. You’d just kept on going, trying to smile so no one would worry about you. It wouldn’t be forever, right? It wasn’t like Jess was _dead._ You just had to hold down the fort for a little bit until she got back, and then everything would be fine.

Physical therapy wasn’t that bad, right? So many others had it worse. So why were you crying so hard, huh?

Why were you bawling like you were a third grader again?

Why couldn’t you contain yourself and just act like a normal person, huh?

Why did you have to be so…?

“I’m sorry,” you choked out after a while. “’M sorry, ‘m sorry, god, this is awful, you must think I’m _such_ a huge dumbass.”

“buddy, it’s fine. ’dumbass’ is literally my middle name. i’ll send you a picture of my birth certificate if you don’t believe me.”

A laugh spilled out from your tear-stained throat. “Okay, _now_ I need you to prove that.”

“in a bit. first, i think it’s time for you to unload some of that baggage. why’s Jess in the hospital?”

“Car crash.” You looked around for some tissues, but finding none easily available, you stayed true to your roots as a complete goblin man and blew your nose on your sleeve. “She’s pretty busted up. I-it’s not, she’s not dying, it’s just… It’s not that bad, so I shouldn’t…”

“dude, your friend is in the hospital. i kinda flunked ‘proper ways of emotional expression 101’, but i _think_ that’s an okay reason to have a bit of a cry.”

“Yeah, but… this is still the first time I’ve talked to you.” Sniffle, snort, oh _god_ you were snotty. Okay, time to go to the bathroom and clean yourself up a bit. “That is a weird way to… start an association.”

Sans sounded entirely incredulous, and you wondered what he looked like when he was surprised. How did his face even emote, really…? “what do you mean, ‘start an association’? we’ve talked a ton. sure, you were mimicking someone else, but that was still, like… it was still _you._ i mean, i’d like to get to know the real you, sure, but…”

“…What?” you said carefully, pausing just as you were moving to get off the bed. Your voice still sounded gooey and broken up from your earlier outburst, but you could force yourself to be decently coherent. “I – what? _Why?_ I’m not – Sans. I’m not cool, or funny, or… I dunno, confident like Jess is. Seriously. I’m a loser. I watch too many dumb cartoons and I freelance because I’m too useless to get a real job.”

With a sigh, you pushed yourself up into a stand. “I… don’t think… you really have the right impression of me.”

“you get excited about catching pokemon. you cry during pixar movies. you think dogs are the best thing ever and that if the world was just made of dogs, everyone would be happy. you like braiding hair, and when you were in fifth grade, you got detention for reading comic books under your desk during math class.”

(You remembered that. Mr. Fitzpatrick was actually the _worst.)_

“look, okay. you’re right. i don’t actually _really_ know you. but the way Jess tells it, you’re the person who got her doing all this… advice blog stuff in the first place, right? because you thought it wasn’t fair, the way monsters were getting treated. so…”

“that definitely makes you something that i want to know. hell – that everyone wants to know. i know that for a fact.”

You stopped in the doorway of your room, resting a hand on the doorway as you listened to Sans. It took you some time to compose yourself – this was getting into some pretty Deep Issues territory, and man, were you not prepared for a therapy session today – but as you opened your mouth, he said something else in an abashed grumble.

“shit. this is… pretty much not my style. i didn’t mean to get all gross on you there. i think hanging around the kid has made me soft.”

“No, no!” You protested quickly. “No, I – it was all very nice. I um… I’m not very good at this either. It’s not like I can use humor to deflect attention from my severe emotional problems here! ‘Haha, yeah, my best friend got into a car wreck’ doesn’t make for good material.”

“dunno, you might bump into something.”

“…Did you just - ”

“if you keep trying, a good idea might crash into you.”

“Oh my god, you’re _seriously - ”_

“but if you really twist my arm,” he said, and you could _hear_ his shitty grin over the line. “i might be able to help you out.”

You sniffled. “You – you have _such poor taste._ ”

“yeah, but you’re laughing, aren’t you?”

Strangely enough, you found that you were.

 

* * *

 

You spent close to two hours talking to Sans, only ending it when you shamefully admitted that you really needed to take a shower and put some ramen into your face. Afterwards, you spent well over two hours more texting which concluded with you – exhausted after so many sleepless nights – falling asleep with your phone in your hand.

You still pretended to be Jess to everyone that wasn’t him; it wasn’t like that one weird conversation had been some miracle cure that fixed all of your stupid problems. But one of the curtains that hung over your existence had been drawn back, and even as you helped Jess through her recovery you found yourself talking to him more and more.

It was a little step, to be certain, one that was more like a nudge. But Sans – even if he didn’t really know it, even if he wasn’t really trying to do that – helped keep you sane during… everything.

…For just a moment, Sans had made you feel like you were a hero, too - and for a hero, the world was wide and everlasting.


	12. Happy Birthday, Jedediah Blake! (pt 1) [Reader & Co.]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk's motley of monsters intends to help you celebrate an important event regarding a mutual friend. Who knew being a popular internet blogger could turn you into a conspirator?
> 
> (Set in the Blogger AU. Friendfic. Has a second part coming!)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter - and the upcoming next one - are both commissioned by @error-tooradforgenosans. Thank you for your support!

You sat on the wooden porch, watching the shimmering, flickering water of the mountain lake catch the red and orange glow from the sun setting over the opposite shore. The air felt warm, somewhat muggy, though a cool breeze rustled the spindly needles of the pine trees around you. It was a sweet balm on your sweat-stained forehead, and you turned your face to the wind, closing your eyes and breathing out a sigh of contentment. Moving your things into the cabin had taken some work; clothes, entertainment, and provisions for a week felt like a lot when you were a scrawny little blogger and all you had to help you was an equally scrawny techie. Beyond that, Jedi had immediately wanted to go on a walk, which – given his enthusiasm – had turned into more of a scrambling jog as you worked to keep up with your eternally energetic companion.

Of course, he’d put it as  _ going on a scouting mission _ rather than  _ taking a walk _ , but speaking the language of the enigmatic  _ Jedi _ was a skill you’d honed from many years of practice.

Footsteps creaked on the deck behind you, and you placed your hands flat on the boards, turning to look at the source of the noise. Jedi stood there in the doorway, a can of something in his hand, and he extended a matching drink out towards you with a smile. You took it, pulling on the tab and then downing half of it in one fell swoop, and he laughed, taking the opportunity to tease you merrily. “You’re like a dog slurping up water after a walk!”

“I think you’re more dog-like,” you said after wiping the sticky soda off of your upper lip. “Mr. ‘I-Literally-Chase-After-Squirrels.’”

He practically giggled, flopping down beside you and popping his drink open with a hiss of carbonation. “Well, we can both be dogs then. Dogs are great! We can howl at the moon and roam around the woods like we’re a pack.”

You rested your chin on your hand, smirking to yourself as the world gradually grew dimmer around you. “That would make me feel like we’re in high school again. Do you remember  _ those _ kids? You know, the ones that did that always talked about that forest wolf roleplay stuff around the lunch table?”

“Oh, heck yeah!” Jedi beamed, his laugh ringing through the trees as he downed a much more swig of what you now knew to be Coke. You should have figured. It always Coke with him; his blood was probably made out of sugar. “They were wild! I loved those guys.”

“You would.” Shaking your head, you watched the fireflies glimmer in the evening air before you changed the topic to a point of more immediate interest. “Heard anything from them, yet?”

“Ummm…” He drew the sound out as he fetched his phone from his back pocket, the screen bathing his face with an electric glow. “Nope, last message said they were stopping for dinner at a Cracker Barrel. The signal’s pretty crummy out here though, so maybe an update just hasn’t come through. Or maybe they got caught up with touristy stuff, who knows?”

As if to punctuate his suspicion, Jedi turned his phone around for your viewing pleasure, and allowing you to see a photo of Frisk trying on a silly mustache and glasses combo. In the background, you could see Papyrus wearing a cowboy hat and holding an enormous, circular rainbow lollipop that easily dwarfed his cranial cavity. Briefly, you wondered how he could possibly eat a lollipop without a tongue.

You immediately banished that thought, deeming it to be a topic you wanted to Know Nothing about. 

“May I?” you asked, reaching out to scroll up.

Jedi shrugged, letting out an accepting  _ sure, _ and you, taking on the role that he’d inhabited for so long, peeped in on his conversation with Alphys. These days, you couldn’t help but wonder if she talked with him now more than you. Instead of jealousy, though, all you felt was a warm, comforting surge of pride. Paragraphs and paragraphs of nerdy babble and programming chatter filled the screen, and you skimmed over it with a fond smile on your face.

“Are you nervous?” you asked quietly, turning your attention back up to his face. Jedi looked back at his phone, gazing down at it in contemplation, and you could see its glimmer reflected in his deep, brown eyes.

He opened his mouth to lie – you  _ knew _ he was going to – but something seemed to change in his expression, and his normal façade bled into a tight smile. He’d gotten a little more honest lately, a little more forthright, and you couldn’t help but think it was due to their influence.

It’d started with Sans – or Punishment, as Jedi still sometimes called him – but it’d gradually oozed into the others, too. Alphys had been watching cartoons with Sans when he’d laughed at something Jedi had sent him, and – interested – she’d peeked over to see who he was talking with. One thing led to another, and eventually, he spilled the beans that  _ yeah, he’d managed to tame and befriend the ever-elusive Jedediah Blake. _

After enduring her crushing depression and the resulting social awkwardness at realizing she had not achieved a social link level high enough to be Friends with Jedi, Sans had asked him if he wouldn’t maybe want to have a real conversation with Alphys, too. It took some persuading, and perhaps more than a little encouragement of your own, but once they started talking one-on-one, they hit it off immediately. 

They really did have  _ so very much _ in common. The three of them were like the Nerd Trifecta, and though you hadn’t really been able to piece together what Sans’ whole…  _ deal _ was, you had a vague sense that he was a good bit more educated than his current work habits seemed to suggest. Those frighteningly in-depth Star Wars debates he and Jedi kept delving into were enough to prove that.

A lot of their conversation went way over your head, but hearing about it made you feel… good. Bit by bit, Jedi had opened up a little, and you were prouder of him than you could possibly express in words.

“I’m… a little bit nervous,” he admitted, passing his phone back and forth between his hands in an idle fidget. After a moment of thought, he looked up, treating you to an honest, warm smile. “But, um, everyone’s really nice, and it’s not like I’m alone, right?”

You reached out to ruffle Jedediah’s shaggy, humidity-frizzled hair. “’Course not, you goober, I’d never leave you. Now, want to play a round of something before they get here? We probably have time for – “

It was just as you were looking back to the door of the cabin that you heard the roll of wheels on gravel, and looking back at the road, you saw a pair of headlights emerge from the gloom as heavy, mud-spattered green Jeep rolled up the driveway. The top was down - it was one of those rugged convertibles - and a guitar-riff heavy J-Rock song blared out of the stereo as it approached. A stream of blindingly red hair streaked out of the driver’s side window before settling as the car pulled into a stop, and you blinked, not quite believing the scene before you. Was that seriously them? Weren’t they going to give you a heads-up before they arrived? But immediately after the car settled into the dirt, a pair of blue, webbed hands grabbed the bar above the windshield, and a rocket of fierce musculature vaulted out of the car straight towards you.

“HAHAHA, IT’S REALLY YOU, YOU LITTLE PUNK!”

You were, in true two-thousand-and-seven online chatroom fashion,  _ glomped, _ and  _ boy howdy _ was it a less pleasant experience than fourteen-year-old you thought it was going to be.

First of all, Undyne was heavy. Second of all, she had – with her luscious, massive thigh muscles – managed to rocket herself at approximately sixty-four miles per hour towards you, much like a lion violently taking down a gazelle. You slid across the floor, the wind knocked out of you under the weight of her  _ massive muscles, Dear God in Heaven above the pictures had not prepared you for her diamond hard abs,  _ and in the rush of sound, noise, and screaming you saw Jedediah stand, his hands flying to his mouth as he stared at the scene in numb shock.

The tsunami known colloquially as Undyne  _ nuzzled _ you, laughing like a maniac as she gripped you tight. After getting bored of that, she lifted herself about an inch up – just enough to keep you from suffocating – and you saw her pointy, pointy teeth looming above you as her mouth widened into a grin. “It’s you! It’s seriously you! Man, you’re so tiny! I could crush your hands like – like, I don’t know, like they’re those little toothpicks they put in fancy sandwiches!”

“Please don’t crush my hands,” you wheezed. “I need those.”

Undyne gleamed down at you, her teeth sparkling in the yellow light hanging over the porch. You heard other footsteps beyond, along with a timid, stuttering voice belonging to a monster that you could only surmise was Alphys. “U-Undyne, I thought we  _ talked _ about thi - ”

She was, however, interrupted by a booming voice that could only possibly be _the_ _Great Papyrus._ “UNDYNE!! LEAVE SOME ROOM FOR US!”

A thunderous tremor of clamoring bones and clattering boots thudded towards you, and though you’d never actually been dragged into a Dungeons & Dragons game, you’d heard enough from the others to figure that this was probably what it was like to be an ambushed by a horde of skeletons. Moments later, you felt another weight on you as Papyrus  _ tackled Undyne, _ who was still in the process of tackling you. Her weight meant that you didn’t slide as much, but the air was knocked out of you all over again, and you were starting to regret the mere existence of life.

“Oh no, Papyrus, please don’t…!” You heard a succession of quick steps and some notes of panicked fretting, and you figured – though you couldn’t see beyond Undyne and Papyrus’ combined bulk – that Alphys had come to try to talk some sense into the destructive duo. “You can hurt humans by doing that!”

“Oh c’mon, it’s Jess! I bet this happens to her all the time!” You saw Undyne look somewhere off to your left, but it was hard to focus on that with Papyrus bellowing over her shoulder.

“YES, DON’T YOU REMEMBER OUR HUMAN STUDIES? THEY ARE VERY DURABLE. WHY, I HAVE SEEN FRISK ENDURE THE ENTIRE DOG BRIGADE’S DOGPILE TECHNIQUE WITH NO ILL EFFECTS!”

“Mmmn…” You heard a verbal wince, and looking to your right, you saw a young, but still very familiar face looking down at you. A short bob of brown hair framed a round, dark complexion and warm, half-lidded umber eyes, and as the child crouched beside your prone form, you could see their thin limbs scabby knees poking out of a pair of blue jean shorts. They smiled, and – much more calmly than their companions – reached out to tap you lightly on the nose.

“Hi,” Frisk said, and god, something about the gentle way they said it made you love this kid a thousand times more. “Should I get them off you?”

“Yes, please,” you groaned, and somehow, they heard you despite the surrounding general mayhem.

“That’s not, that’s not, you could squish her! You’re both very heavy!”

“I’ve never squished you, Alphie, and you’re  _ way _ smaller than her!”

“Well – Well, I, uh, I, uh – “

“BESIDES, SHE IS NOT SCREAMING, AND THAT’S HOW YOU KNOW WHEN HUMANS ARE UPSET! I KNOW THIS FROM EXPERIENCE.”

_ “Papyrus!” _

The sound of Frisk clapping echoed through the woods, and it cut through the conversation with enough force for them to make a proclamation. "Show Jess and Jedediah how strong you two have gotten by competing to unpack the car the fastest, okay?”

If life was a cartoon, you’d be able to hear the sound of them blinking in tandem, and a cloud of dust would have encompassed the resulting scuffle as both Papyrus and Undyne extracted themselves from their pile and sprinted towards the car. Wait, was – had Papyrus  _ levitated  _ for a second there…?

Coughing to reclaim your breath, you pushed yourself up on your elbows, staring absently forward as the shouts receded somewhat into a somewhat dizzying ring.

“regretting your decision, yet?” drawled a voice from behind you, and you – along with Jedi – started in surprise as your attention snapped over to Sans lounging near the doorway.

It was totally feasible for him to have gotten there without you noticing, given that, up to this moment, almost your entire field of vision had been obscured by the muscle duo. But Sans was standing directly adjacent to Jedi, and  _ he  _ looked just as surprised as you, so…?

Ah, well. He’d probably been distracted himself.

“Nah.” You shook your head with a smile and slowly picked yourself up. “I was emotionally prepared for something like this. Don’t worry about it.”

“Still!” Alphys puffed herself up, though it wasn’t very intimidating given that she didn’t even come to your chest. “I told them to…!”

After sparing a cautious glance at the irrepressible tornado of unpacking currently enveloping the car, you made a shooing motion with your hands, trying to guide the others away from the doorway. “We should… probably get out of the way of the stampede.”

“You’re probably right,” Alphys said, giving up her annoyance with a sigh. She shuffled backwards, farther towards the railing, and you gave the pair’s projected pathway a very large berth as you watched them in abject fascination. It was… honestly impressive. Papyrus had five bags stacked on his shoulders already, and somehow had managed to balance another on his head. Undyne held three suitcases aloft with one arm, and was currently working on a fourth.

It was so completely, ridiculously, entirely unnecessary, and they both seemed to be having the time of their lives.

Jedi managed a quiet  _ woah _ as he observed the scene, keeping himself as far from it as possible by pressing the entirety of his body against the wall. He probably didn’t even realize he was doing it. “That’s… how are they going to fit through the doorway?”

“Neither of them have thought about that,” Frisk said, more like a statement of fact than them bemoaning the situation. “But they’ll figure out a way.”

“H-hopefully they don’t drop any of the stuff…!” Alphys fussed, and Sans just sort of shrugged in a nonverbal epitome of  _ it-can’t-be-helped. _

“we padded everything breakable. it’ll be fine.”

“Will it…?” she sighed, and then adjusted her glasses before looking at you. “W-Well, we’ll see what happens, I suppose. Um. Hello. I-it’s, um… Nice to… er, oh… this isn’t really a meeting, is it… Uh, how do you greet people you’ve only known online…?”

“Nice to meet you works, I think,” you said with a smile, bending down as you extended your hand to her level. “Since we’re meeting in person for the first time. Did you guys have a nice trip?”

You thought your hands were small, but your palm entirely dwarfed Alphys’ delicate digits. “It was, um, it was… exciting! Undyne knows to make road trips very, very exciting.”

You saw Frisk wince from the corner of your eye, and you could only theorize about what events had transpired on their journey. It was probably better that you didn’t ask.

Instead, you extended your hand out to them next, greeting them just as you had Alphys. “And it’s nice to meet you too, kiddo. Sorry your parents couldn’t make it. They sound like interesting people.”

“There probably wouldn’t have been enough room for them in the car, but they do send their greetings!” Frisk gave your hand a warm, brisk shake, and it felt like the grip of someone who’d shaken a number of hands in the past. Typical, for the ambassador of the monsters. They had a lot of responsibility for someone so young.

“yeah. and it’s… probably best that Tori and Asgore not go on the same vacation.” Sans spoke up, his easy grin not really matching the content of his statement. You grimaced internally, only able to imagine how complicated that must be for Frisk.

They took it in stride, though, and seemed to appreciate Sans’ forthright remark. “Yeah, that too. I kinda just want to have fun. I love mom and dad, but…”

There was history. You didn’t know it, but you knew enough to know it was very, very painful, and it should probably be left at just that.

Jedi was about to say something when Papyrus and Undyne finally returned, barreling across the driveway in a breakneck scramble as they both tried to be the one to triumph over the other. You were glad you’d herded the group out of the way, and you were also glad that Jedi hadn’t shut the door entirely properly when he’d come out, because otherwise, they probably would have torn it off its hingers in their conquest for victory. You’d never been in the middle of a stampede, but you could only assume it sounded something like the ruckus they were making.

“WHERE IS THE FINISH LINE?” Papyrus shouted as he broke through the door first, and Undyne summarily barreled into his back as he paused in confusion.

“All the bags have to be in the right spot! Frisk said first to unpack, not first to get them inside!”

“BUT WHERE IS THE RIGHT SPOT?”

“That’s for you to figure out!”

“Oh no,” Alphys murmured, dashing in after them. “I-I should help them sort things out!”

“Uh, wait, maybe I should – “ You reached out for her retreating back, and Frisk reached out, taking your wrist and shaking their head.

“I’ll go supervise them. You wait out here until I give you the go-ahead.”

You were about to protest, but Frisk gave you a wink, and realization dawned on you as you spared a glance at Jedi. Right. You saw what they were doing. Everyone had probably brought things that they didn’t want Jedi to see, after all, since the true reason everyone had gathered here was…

Right, yeah.

Smiling, you nodded at Frisk, shocked at how clever and thoughtful they were. “Ok, yeah, I’d probably just get in the way. Jedi and I have already laid claims to our rooms, and we’ve already figured out who’s rooming with who, so that shouldn’t be a problem. There’s plenty of space for you to put your things in mine, and I guess you two can get your stuff settled afterwards?”

You glanced at Sans and Jedi for confirmation, and were somewhat amused to find them both leaning against the wall. What a pair. 

“sounds good to me. i love putting things off.”

“That’s fine, though are you sure you don’t need any help?”

“I’ve got it,” Frisk replied, giving them both a confident thumbs up. A crash from the interior of the cabin caused you to flinch, and Frisk sighed, stretching and as they strode forward. “It shouldn’t take too long, but if an hour passes and there’s no sign of life, send in a search party.”

Jedi laughed, finally seeming to calm from the adrenaline high of the monster’s… boisterous entrance. “The guy who owns the campgrounds in this area has one of those big Bernese Mountain dogs. We’ll grab him and go on a rescue mission if you don’t return.”

Frisk halted in the doorway, and an interested gleam entered their eyes. “…I’m going to pet that dog,” they said with confidence, and you were fully and completely aware that it didn’t matter what sort of trials they’d have to endure to do so. “It’s going in my schedule.”

“Your  _ schedule. _ ” Jedi’s eyebrows going up in amused surprise. “You really are the little politician, aren’t you?”

After giving your trio a salute, they ventured inside into the danger zone.

A moment of quiet overtook the three of you as you were finally given some space to relax, before Jedi broke it with a deep, rushing  _ whew. _ He looked down at Sans, who’d stayed pretty quiet throughout the debacle, and offered the smaller skeleton his hand with a smile. “It’s, uh… Nice to meet you in person?”

Sans took it, giving it a lazy shake. When you offered yours as well, Sans simply took it with his  _ other _ hand, crossing is arms in a ridiculous way to get both of the greetings over with at once. “pleasure’s all mine. sorry for the abrupt arrival. the signal’s real bad out here.”

You snorted, but decided to just take Sans’ ridiculousness in stride. “Yeah, we’ve noticed. Unfortunately, this cabin is a bit… old school, so there’s no wireless. I hope you can all manage.”

“oh no,” Sans said flatly. “whatever shall i do without the internet to entertain me.”

“Hey!” You poked Jedi in the side. “It’s a genuine worry with this one. I can’t get him off his dang phone.”

“But I want to catch  _ Pokémon, _ ” Jedi whined, and you couldn’t help but palm your forehead.

“This is the middle of nowhere. There’s probably nothing around. Besides, I thought you were excited to go on wilderness adventures or whatever else you want to do.” 

“I am! And I do! I just want to be hatching eggs while I do it!”

“You can’t do that offline…?” You asked, and Jedi pouted at you.

“No! You have to be connected to the server! And the signal is way too weak out here…”

“Oh dear. What a tragedy. I don’t know how you’ll go on,” you said flatly, and Jedediah stuck his tongue out at you.

“I was want a digital adventure along with my physical one; is that too much to ask?!”

“you’ll probably be fine in town,” Sans interjected, hooking his thumb back towards the road. “it seemed fine there. And i imagine we’ll be doing a decent amount of stuff there. Like, Undyne is really into all that swimming, boating, and bear wrestling stuff you do in the woods, but i’m pretty sure Alphys would rather be looking at the museums and tourist junk they’ve got there. one of the museums has this giant ball of yarn that she wants to go see for… some reason.”

“That’s because enlarged versions of mundane objects are  _ cool, _ and you’re a loser for not appreciating their genius.”

“whatever jostles your rocks, pal.” 

You smiled and leaned back against the railing, resting some of your weight against the wood. “There’s a carnival going on over the weekend, too, though I think we’ll be too distracted by that to play phone games.”

“I won’t even be able to carry my phone with all the cool prizes I’ll be carrying! I’m pretty good at carnival games, if I do say so myself.” Jedi put his hands on his hips, striking a jaunty pose, and Sans raised his browbone in a way that you thought was… peculiar. Man. Seeing your friends, who had always been trapped in motionless photographs, moving and interacting and  _ talking _ was just so weird.

It wasn’t a bad weird, but the surrealness left you pretty giddy.

“really, now. didn’t know you were such an expert.”

“It’s one of my points of pride! A true side-kick must be an expert at all sorts of distractions and mini-games, to let the hero focus on the important parts of the journey! At least, that’s what playing video games with Jess has taught me. She’s horrible at that stuff.”

“Hey!” You protested, punching Jedi lightly on the shoulder. “Am not!”

“Are too.”

_ “Am not!” _

“Are to! You’re always asking for my help whenever it’s not something turn-based!  _ Oooh Jedi, I can’t finish this dumb apple-collecting mini-game and I just want to get on with the stoooory! Please rescue me! _ ”

“Ugh! I do  _ not _ sound like that!”

_ “Ooohhh Jedi, I’m really bad at Mario Party, please team up with me so we can beat the kids next door because I also can’t stand to lose! Also, eat some fruiiit because eating only skittles for lunch with rot your teeeeth!” _

“That’s because it  _ will! _ I don’t know how your dentist hasn’t murdered you!”

“That’s probably because I don’t go to the dentist.”

“What!  _ Jedi, you said you went last month. Did you lie to me?” _ You pointed your finger directly at his chest, to which he responded with a huff.

“I said I made an appointment, which I did. I just didn’t go.”

_ “Jedi!” _

“Dental offices are like glorified torture chambers! There are too many drills in there, Jess! Too many pokey, pointy, stabby implements!”

“Oh my  _ god _ you’re  _ ridiculous _ if we weren’t on  _ vacation I’d drag you to someone's office right this second.” _

“The day before my birthday?” Jedi fired back, pouting once more and crossing his arms. “That’s pretty cruel of you! I mean, I know I don’t celebrate it or anything, but exposing me to teeth trauma right before my “special day” seems like a very particular form of evil.”

You got quiet for a second, surprised that he’d even mentioned it. You’d talked about it briefly – like, you couldn’t plan a vacation right around his birthday without the topic coming up – but you wondered if he suspected that you weren’t intending to let the day slip by just like any other. He’d never had parties, even when the two of you were children, and every time you tried to organize a celebration, he just laughed and said he didn’t really see the point in it. You got him gifts, sure, but it was never a  _ big deal. _ He always refused to make it a  _ big deal. _

It was the same with the big milestone years. The two of you spent his sixteenth birthday playing video games, and when he turned twenty-one, all he wanted to do was go to the liquor store and buy the booze with the funniest name the two of you could find. It ended up being a beer that the both of you couldn’t stomach, so you pawned it off on his dad and watched a movie sober instead. It wasn’t… bad, and it wasn’t like it wasn’t fun, but…

But you knew he had problems with feeling special, or having attention paid to him, and for  _ once, _ you wanted him to feel like something could be about him. Everyone else had felt the same, so – while the overt purpose of the trip was to have some fun during Frisk’s summer break and finally get a chance to meet up – you’d all concocted a secret plot.

You all were going to throw Jedi a surprise birthday party and give him  _ the best week ever. _

Right now, Frisk, Undyne, Alphys and Papyrus were probably hard at work, hiding the presents and the party supplies somewhere he wouldn’t stumble across them. You had your gift for him stashed among your underwear in your suitcase, and you’d been careful not to let anything slip about your plans during the journey.

Did he suspect anything? You couldn’t help but wonder, but even if he did, you thought it’d be fine. All you had to do was exceed all of his expectations, and there was no one better to do that with than the group of monsters you called  _ your friends. _

“I guess you’re right,” you admitted, and you finally remembered that Sans was still there. He’d just been there, watching the two of you bicker with a profoundly amused expression on his face, and when he saw you looking, he let out a low rumble of a laugh.

“i’m guessing this happens often.”

You flicked your finger in Jedi’s direction. “He needs to be chastised often for his foolhardiness. He really doesn’t take care of himself very well!”

“i know a lot of people with that problem,” he said, but you didn’t have time to press him for information, because Frisk poked their head out of the door immediately after.

“I think it’s safe for you guys to come inside, Papyrus and Undine seem to have settled down. Wanna get some drinks and talk about our itinerary? I know we made some loose plans, but it’d be nice to get everything settled.”

_ Oh my god, _ you said internally, staring at their inquisitive expression.  _ What kind of kid uses words like itinerary? _   You smiled fondly, though, and pushed yourself off the railing.

“Yeah, sure, that sounds good. What do you guys think?”

“hey, as long as i can sit, we’re good.”

“We’ve gotta make sure to plan a lot of time for the carnival!” Jedi bounded forward, all enthusiasm and energy once more. “I’ve got a guide-book that has a bunch of local attractions and activities listed, let me get it and we can find out what people are interested in! Oh, this is going to be great. I hope you like hiking, Sans, because there’s a  _ really cool mine-shaft that I totally want to go see!” _

“if  _ hiking _ means  _ you carry me on your back while you do whatever, _ then sure, i suppose i’m down.”

You followed Jedi as he pushed past you, shaking your head at your friend’s ridiculousness. Everything would be fine as long as he enjoys himself, you thought to yourself, readying your body for the onslaught of chaos that was sure to follow. And you knew everyone else felt the same. 

Jedediah might enjoy chronically underplaying his own importance in people’s lives, but what you’d accomplished was a  _ team effort. _ You’d show him that with his first birthday party ever.


End file.
